


Did you feel it? : A soulmates AU

by MorganeUK



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adolescent John, Adolescent Sherlock, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And no Eurus, Anderson is a believer, Angry John Watson, Angry Sherlock Holmes, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Anthea minding Mycroft business, Anxious John Watson, Army Doctor John Watson, BAMF Anthea (Sherlock), BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, BAMF Simpson, But he's not bad at it himself!, But no drowning kid I promise, But thinking he.s a good brother..., Canon Divergence - The Reichenbach Fall, Canon-Typical Violence, Devious Sherlock Holmes, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Meetings, Fragile Sherlock, Greg Feels, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg in love, Gunshot Wounds, Holmes family history, Human Greg, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injured Greg, Injured Sherlock, John Is So Done, John Watson in Afghanistan, John Watson is a Saint, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Made For Each Other, Moran family - Freeform, Mrs and Mr Holmes are soulmates, Musgrave Hall, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft in Love, Mycroft's Meddling, Mystrade finally!, Or Mycroft think it is!, Poor Lestrade, Poor Mycroft, Pre-Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Protective Greg, Protective John, Protective Mrs. Holmes, Romantic Mycroft, Romantic Soulmates, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Sebastian Moran Being Creepy, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson in Love, Sherlock being difficult, Slow burn Mycroft / Greg, Soulmates Mycroft and Greg, Soulmates Sherlock and John, Suicide Attempt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yes. Poor Mycroft, agra, together at last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 58
Words: 126,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: In a world where 0.01% of the population have a soulmate with whom they share pains and violent emotions... what are the odds that an ex-army doctor and an ex-addict detective open their heart and soul enough to found each others?Finally writing a twist on the soulmates trend... Hope you like it!





	1. Childhood

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to notjustmom for beta-ing. You're the best!
> 
> I am not the owner of Sherlock Holmes etc
> 
> Any excerpt from 'real' dialog come from Ariane de Verre wonderful transcript: https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/30257.html

**John**

“Go on, John, it’s your go!”  The teacher was smiling softly, trying to reassure the eleven year old child. “Your turn to present your research in front of the class.”

“Yes, Ms. White.” Taking his time, he really doesn’t like speaking in front of his classmates, John picked up his papers and walks to the front of the room next to Ms. White.

“What are you talking about today, John?” She asked kindly.

Looking down at his feet, the boy murmurs, “I’m going to talk about soulmates’ history and stuff.” The boys in the class  whisper snarky comments about how stupid it is but he got all the attention of the girls! He frowns at his friends who stop nagging instantly. John was a beautiful blond boy, loved by everyone, good at school and in sports. After a deep breath, he starts his presentation.

“Hi. Today I’m going to talk about soulmates. Soulmates have been known since the beginning of the world and nobody know exactly why they exist. First, they come in pairs. When two people are soulmates, that they have a bond that links them together. They are usually feeling the emotions of the other and knows when the other is hurt. When the bond is really, really strong, one cannot survive if the other dies!” At that, few girls start crying.  _Girls are silly…_  “An es-ti-ma-ted of one person for each thousand have a soulmate.  If you don’t it doesn’t mean that you can’t love as much, it’s just that you don’t have that extra special connection. Some couples are soulmates while others are not.” He carefully shows on a map the repartition of soulmates around the word. “Sometimes your soulmate can be a continent away and it’s nearly impossible to find them! If someone is supposed to have a soulmate but can’t found them, they won’t be able to settle with someone else. Because something will be missing.” 

John look at his teacher, a little sad. “This is horrible, don’t you think Ms. White?” 

“Yes, really sad.” She smiles reassuringly, “Go ahead, Freddy is waiting for his turn.”

“Yes m’am. So… How do you know if you have a soulmate? Of course, if you met your soulmate you usually get a sign or something so you know it is him or her.  The first signs are usually showing up at 16 or 17. Sometimes sooner, depending of the age difference between the two.  If you want, you can be tested at 18 years of age. Humm…. Also, it’s a personal question to ask someone, because it’s… personal. It’s usually runs in a family, like red hair or such.  When you parents are soulmate, you’ve got 5 times the chance of having one.” He looks at his papers, not knowing where he was in his text. “Oh... yes. It can be great to have a soulmate, except that when you know you have one but don’t know who it is, it can drive you CRAZY! Like feeling you are ultra-sick but it’s the other one! Or knowing that he or she is in great pain but unable to do something about it. The Association for Helping Soulmates keeps a bank of the people that came down with strange symptoms, to help match the soulmates together, but it doesn’t always work. So even if it’s romantic and everything, I think that having a soulmate would be more of a curse than a blessing.” 

“Thanks John, really well done. You can go back to your seat now… Freddy? Your turn!”

While listening to Freddy's presentation about how he wants to become a fireman, John's thoughts fly back home.  His mother is a kind woman whose soulmate, John's father, died in a car accident. A few years later, at her family and friends’ insistence, she starts dating again and met John’s step-father.  They were enough happy at first, but he quickly felt inadequate knowing that his wife had the chance to be with the love of her life before. The resentment brought loud fights and his step-father left, leaving his mom alone with John and his half-sister, Harriet.  _Yes, being one of the gifted is a curse when you can’t find your soulmate._ But the light in his mother eyes when she talks about his father, about how their love was perfect…  _It can't be that bad if your soulmate is with you. It must be wonderful to know that you will never be alone. And if it runs in a family, maybe I’ll get the chance…_ He turns his attention back to the front of the class where his friend was showing his father’s fireman helmet.  _Cool!_

**Sherlock**

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Holmes was trying to get her youngest son's attention to no avail. “Honey! Come here!”

The young boy ran down the stairs, clearly exasperated. “Yes, yes… What? I was in the middle of an experiment and…” he stops on the spot when he saw the strange woman in the entrance. 

“Don’t be shy love, this is my friend Ms. Hudson. She’s here for tea and she would like to meet you.” She nudges the seven year old boy in direction of her friend. “Martha, this is Sherlock my youngest. Mycroft is off at boarding school currently.” 

“Oh, what a sweet boy! Hello Sherlock. How do you do?” She extends her hand as if he were an adult, which he likes. A lot.

“I’m doing fine, thanks. Ms. Hudson.” His silky curls were all over the place, his polo shirt stained with earth.

“Were you working on a big experiment? You mother told me that you were quite a curious young man.” Her smile was comforting and warm. She was probably fifteen years older than Ms. Holmes but they became good friends when they met in a reading circle few months ago.

“I’ve got an ant farm in my bedroom and I want to know what happens when a tunnel collapses.” His tone was really serious. “You know that human are often act like ants?”

“I know… always the same who work while the other just stay put and relax.” She shuffles his hairs playfully, thinking that with eyes like that he’s going to break some hearts later on! “Go back to your experiment, we will call you when I open the tin of biscuits I brought.” Sherlock turns his expectant gaze toward his mother, with a big smile.

“Yes, yes… Go!” She laughs “I will call when it's time for tea.” Sherlock grins and runs back to his room. “That kid… Sometimes - I don’t know what will become of him!”

 

An hour later, Sherlock was sitting between his mother and her friend, eating as many biscuits as possible without his mom knowing. They were talking about adult stuff anyway… The subject was boring until the world ‘soulmate’ was brought up. 

Ms. Hudson asks quietly, nearly murmuring as if it was taboo. “Having soulmate parents, the odds for your boys to have a soulmate are great. Do you wish it for them?” 

“I don’t know Martha… it’s marvelous when you find yours, but… the search, the deception, the longing when you know you have someone for you somewhere but can’t found him!” She puts her empty cup down, a big smile on her lips as she was thinking about her husband. “You know, I always know how he feels. I know that this morning, his knees were a bit funny.  I know that he’s stressed out about the conference he’s giving. I know that he longs to be near me as I long for him…” Her voice had an eerily tone, full of affection.

“I think you are lucky! And I hope for both your sons to have one!” With a smile, the older lady pushes the biscuit plate in direction of the little boy. Taking one last biscuit, Sherlock returned to his room, he had a lot to think about.

Once alone, he opens his encyclopaedia and look until he found the word ‘Soulmate’ and read the definition out loud to memorized it better. 

_“Soulmate. First Known Use: 1421. A person who is perfectly suited to another. They share a part of their psyche which causes one to feel when the other is hurt or has violent emotions. The hormone that cause the effect, soulanium, is detectable in the blood the day of the 18 th_ _birthday, sooner if the soulmates have already made contact.  There’s no clear reason on why only 0.01% of the population have soulanium in their blood, but the most common explanation is that’s one of the last gift that the druids left us when they were annihilated by the Romans. So only the descendants of those druids has this gift. The fact that British citizens, soldiers and civils, conquered the world starting in the_ _17th century cause a propagation of what it sometime view as a defect as it controls the emotion of those who are, as they are often known, ‘gifted’. Discrimination against or preferential treatment of the ‘gifted’ is clearly illegal but, even today, some high responsibility positions are specifically unavailable to soulmates, the possibility of being completely destroyed if something happens to the other and, furthermore, the risk that the other half will be used as leverage to force someone into an action.”_

“Oh… A defect. Risk of being  _forced_  into doing something to protect the other… No. I don’t want that.” And he closes his book, going back to his experiment, putting that notion far away from his mind.


	2. High school

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of 2 teenagers...

**John**

“Runnnn John! Runnnnn!” Mike was screaming at the top of his lung, trying to make his friend fly over the other team's line. It was a cold November day and one of the last match of the season. The supporters, mostly students at it was right after school, were already wearing gloves and scarves. The field was muddy and cold but the day was bright and sunny, as those cold days often are. John, strengthened by his cheering friends was feeling wonderful, playing one of his best matches. Suddenly, an attacker from the other team runs into him with all his force, pushing the small adolescent forcibly to the ground without any valid reason!

The referee and the coaches were too late to stop the assault and John was lying dazed with his leg twisted in a unnatural direction. Looking at his limb with a professional eye – he wishes to become a doctor after all! – John's last thought before falling unconscious was  _Oh! At least it doesn’t look like an open fracture_. He was quickly surrounded by his team and sent to hospital.

As soon as the news of his broken leg spread around the school, an unprecedented number of young girls went to the nurse because ‘I don’t know why, but suddenly, as poor John brake his leg… A TERRIBLE pain spread in my leg.’ After the tenth girl, and a few boys, the nurse closed her office for the day.

John, unaware of the commotion his accident had caused, stayed at home for a few days before heading back to school with crutches.   

At 17, John was a beautiful young man. Not as tall as some, but his blond hair, boyish grin and easy-going nature were like a magnet for the girls.  Many were flirting around, wanting to help with the door, with his books… It was maddening! The teasing from his friends was even worse to take!  _It’s not like I’m doing anything on purpose!_ He was always nice and smiling when he politely rebuked the advances but it was starting to become hard to manage!  

 

One evening, in the sanctuary of his bedroom, he opens up to Mike. “Mate, don’t know what to do… I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything… but this must end! I can’t study in the library, I can’t go in the cafeteria... without a bunch of girls fluttering around me like I’m a prince or whatever!”

“Yeah… Poor poor John. The hardships you suffer from pretty girls…” Mike said jokingly. After a few seconds, with a serious tone, he explains guiltily “But, it’s my fault you know. I’m sorry for that.” He was red as a bet, the shame showing on his face. 

John rises from his bed, as quickly as his cast allowed, to tower over his friend “What have you done! MIKE!!”                      

“I may have told a girl that both your parents were soulmates…” He reveals, looking at John sheepishly. “I’m so sorry…”

“Are you crazy! This is personal stuff!”  _God! I can’t believe it!_ “This is why girls are after me, hoping that I will… Hoping that they could be my soulmate. Unbelievable!” He looks at Mike, frowning. “Why did you do that… It’s personal.” He repeats, still amazed by what he has done. He shakes his head… “Why?”

“That annoyingly clingy girl that was after you a few months ago, remember? She was always following you… Shadowing you to the field, to your classes…” He recalls to his mate “One day, she tried to get info from me to, you know, get your attention. To help you I kind of told her that as your parents were soulmates… you’ll probably one yourself so it’s better for her to back off because she was clearly not soulmate material.”

“Mikkkkkke…. You know how girls are! Now everyone knows it! How can I find my soulmate if they are all faking it!? Shit!!”  _It’s not that I absolutely want to be a gifted one… but if I am I want the chance to find my real soulmate!_   _Bugger!_

 

A few months later, John was finally out of his cast and, as he was avoiding them entirely, the girls finally lost interest in him. One day at the end of the last period, he was at his locker taking out his book when someone running in the corridor hit him accidentally with his tennis racquet that was in his backpack. As he was pressing his hand on the probably soon to be bump on his head, he heard someone scream in a nearby classroom. He runs to see what was the commotion. A girl was holding her head crying, her friend helping her to sits on one of the desk.

“Sarah, Sarah… Are you ok.” Her friend asks, worried.

“Yes, it’s just weird… I don’t know it’s like if someone just punch me in the head with a cricket bat!” Her friend tries to convince her to go to the infirmary but the cute blond girl protests that’s all was ok and smiles even as her eyes were full of tears.

Catching the smile, John wasn’t able to repress a big grin. His head was still hurting like a bitch, but  _she_  was there, right in front of him.  _Sarah_ , he thought,  _My Sarah. Last year of college gone be brilliant!_

 

  


**Sherlock**

“Hey… Freak!” The insult resonates in the hall, still crowded as it was the end of the day.  _Not again_ , sigh Sherlock. The physical assaults had ended a year ago when his brother showed him, without their parents' knowledge, a few effective martial arts passes, but the verbal abuses were still going strong. “I’m talking to you Holmes!” The bully, a large lad of 16, walks near Sherlock. “What did you say to my girlfriend? I saw her talking to you and now she just broke up with me.”

“I said nothing that she wasn’t able to see by herself if she hadn’t been blinded by your new car.” Sherlock retorts in a bored voice, unable to shut his mouth as usual, before he turns to walk away from the idiot. In fact, the girl had asked him if he thought that the man was her soulmate and he simply replies that if ‘ _she was gullible enough to believe in such fairy tales, he sincerely hoped for her sake that this pathological liar, future drop-out and chain cheater wasn’t her soulmate because she would be doomed to a life of misery!’_

“Don’t try your mind trick with me… You’re just a freak, alone, pathetic… One day, I will catch you and your ninja moves won’t be able to help you.” As he was trying with difficulty to resist the urge of putting his fist in Sherlock's face, who was still looking uninterested with the discussion, a professor walked in the hall.

“What’s happening here?” Looking at the two students he loudly states “Smith, time to go home, Holmes go to your room, I don’t want to see you wandering about until diner.” Smith, sending a silent message in the line of ‘Until next time’ to Sherlock leaves with his friends for the parking lot while Sherlock walks to the stairs to the dormitory.

 

Once in his room, he pitches his school bag on the floor and he falls onto his bed.  Looking at the ceiling he was once again relieved that his parents had made the concession, after many discussions, to allow him to have a single room instead of a roommate. The voice of his mother still resonates in his head.  _You’re going to make friends. Roommates often remains friends for life!_  How someone intelligent as his mother can really think things like that…  _A posh public school is a family tradition, all right, I do not mind being away from home, but trying to force me to get a double room!_

Thinking back about the altercation, Sherlock sneers out loud. “Thank God that girl had the good sense to break up with Smith.” His ability to ‘read’ people and situations was becoming more and more known in the school and, even if most didn’t appreciate it, the number of students that came in secret to ask him about soulmates was staggering.  _I don’t understand, I always say the same thing, that I think this is silly… And I just point out the qualities and default of the future boyfriend or girlfriend and they thank me… And send me their friends. If it wasn’t that pathetic, I could make a good living of this!_

But mostly, he was a loner, an outcast. He looked at his watch, one hour till dinner. Sigh. At his parents request, the lab was available every evening so he can work in peace and focus his mind on projects, but he can access it only after diner. Suddenly, while getting up to get his books, his left leg begins to hurt without any reason.  _Shit, that hurts._ His body was in the middle of a growth spurt and it often brings pain in his limbs, but the pain was different this time. Unable to move, he called the infirmary and the kind nurse came as quickly as possible with something to ease his joint and muscle pain.

“Here you go my boy. I will leave you a rub, you must massage it carefully in your muscle and tomorrow everything will be ok.” She smiles as Sherlock was taking the pills she also brought. “Too bad you’re only thirteen.”

His desire of company fight a second with his desire for solitude before Sherlock's will failed and he demands, “Why? Thirteen is an acceptable age to go through periods of growth.”  _I must grow at least another 30 centimetres if I want to reach My’s height!_

“Oh… no, I’m not talking of that my boy.” She laughs “It’s just that unexplained pain can come from... you know… a soulmate!” She was now giggling like a schoolgirl “But at 13 it’s really  _really_  rare. You are way too young… So don’t worry about that!” Before leaving, she taunts the boy. “Do you have your eyes set on someone? A girl that you fancy?” She winks. “Or a boy?”

“No. Could you please tell the kitchen that I want to take my meal in my room please?” He quickly replies, not wanting to talk about the subject.

“Yes, I will. Take care Sherlock, I will check on you tomorrow.”

Once more alone, Sherlock thought about what the nurse just said.  _Soulmates, it’s only an old wives' tale! This is so stupid… Why should someone rely on faith to find happiness? Anyway, isn’t better to be happy alone before imposing your life upon another person!_

The vision of his parents’ bliss wasn’t enough to convince him. As an avid chemist, he was hoping to specialize in organic chemistry later, he now knows that the soulanium hormone is a fact that can't be denied. Grabbing one of the scientific journals he subscribed to, he turns to an article about the soulanium hormone. It was about a scientist who was currently working on a serum that stops the effect of the hormone in order to help a soulmate who had lost a partner.   _Suicide attempts are 50% higher when a gifted one loses his or her soulmate. This is ridiculous! All this because of emotions… Uncontrolled emotion. How can people be that stupid? What was that thing Mycroft told me the other time?_ His brother was now in university and was heading for a career as a high level civil servant and therefore was wary about the risk a soulmate may have on his chosen career path. He’d been tested on his eighteenth birthday, and was happy to announce that he did not have a soulmate.  _Oh yes… That’s it… 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.'_

Massaging his sore leg,  _this is strange I usually feel aches in both_ , Sherlock hopes to be as lucky as his brother and to get a negative result when he reached 18.

 

For reason unknown to Sherlock,  _except basic logic of course!,_  the feeling that nobody was there for him developed in the following months and, without any discussion with his therapist, Sherlock decided that it was easier to simply not think about love altogether.

_Anyway, who would be happy to have me as a soulmate or lover?_

 


	3. University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> University .. 2 different paths

**Sherlock**

“Freak! Shut your bloody mouth! Think you’re clever, you’re just a fucking freak!”

 _How original_ , Sherlock thought as he walks around the campus to get to his class.  _The proof that being accepted to one of the best universities in the world didn’t guarantee you weren't an idiot._

“Hey! You shouldn’t talk to him like that!” A nearby young man intervenes. “What the hell, I'd worry more that he’s better than you even if you’re three years his senior!” The bully left without argument, not wanting to turn his teasing in a physical argument. “Are you all right mate?”

Sherlock stops and looks at  the student. He was one of the prettiest guys he'd ever seen in his seventeen years of existence and something unexpectedly twinged in his heart. Tall and slightly built like Sherlock, the unknown man had light brown straight hair and a becoming golden skin.  _And a ten thousand pound smile._  “Thanks, but it wasn’t necessary. I stopped listening to them years ago.”

“Them?” The young man asks before he chuckles “Years ago? I’m sorry to say that even if it’s true you are a bit of a genius, you're still in your first year in uni.”

“They are all the same, the bullies. I stopped listening to them since secondary school.” He pauses, unaccustomed to being curious about someone. “Who are you, and how do you know who I am?”

“Hi,” He extents his hand “I’m Victor Trevor… I need help in my chemistry class and my tutor told me that if I can get on your good side, you’re the best hope I have to pass!” He laughs, then admits ruefully, “I really need help!”

Not knowing what to say, Sherlock remains silent, the little twinge transforming into thousands of butterflies at the velvet sound of his voice.

And just like that, without even remembering saying yes, he became a tutor to an older, and far too attractive man. 

**John**

_Life’s good!_  In his third year of his medical degree, John H. Watson was a satisfied and happy man! In a relationship with his soulmate since college, it wasn't has organic as he thought it would be being soulmates and all but it was perfect as it is, he worked hard to get good grades and was still planning to become a doctor. Sarah was studying nursing, it was perfect!  They were living together near campus and if it wasn’t exactly what he had thought a relationship with his soulmate would be, he felt content with his life. 

Walking in the direction of his flat, he was stopped at a corner by a policeman. “What’s going on, sir?”

“A man barricaded himself in his flat, his wife died last night and he doesn’t want to let go of the body… We are afraid that he wants to commit suicide.” The older man shakes his head. “Poor devil, they were soulmates… it must be terrible.”

“Yes. It must…” John turned around, thinking about the man and his wife…  _What would happen if Sarah dies first? Or if it’s me?_ Thinking about what his mother told about her life with his dad, he was seriously thinking that he may have something wrong with him.  _I love Sarah dearly and if she left me for someone else or if she dies, I would be devastated of course… but enough to thinking about suicide? Enough to accept any substitute just to not be alone?_ He felt guilty as soon as he considered the thought.  _How can I think like that!_

Taking the opportunity to get take-out at a place they both love, John walks quickly home afterwards. Opening the door, he heard a pearly laugh that made him smile instantly.  _I am a fool,,, Sarah she’s everything! But_  her laugh was followed by a deep manly voice. _What the hell! Who’s there!_   He silently places the bag of food on the kitchen table and walks up to the bedroom where he finds Sarah, his soulmate, with another man. Unable to utter a word, he retreats to the living room where, he starts laughing loudly uncontrollably. Exclamations came from the bedroom and a dishevelled Sarah sits down near John, trying to get his attention.  

“John…” She puts her hand on his arm “I’m so sorry… but… It’s serious. I've loved him for a few months now and…” She covers her face with her hands sobbing. “I’m so sorry.”

 _And here I was feeling guilty because I didn’t think that we had a strong enough bond…_ “It’s ok, we've been struggling for over a year…” He looks at her finger that was still adorned with his ring. “But… I don’t understand. How is it possible, we’re soulmates.”

“About that John… Oh God, this is silly, I was young and you were quite a catch but…”

John rises his head and asks coldly. “What?”

“You remember the day we first met… It’s funny when you think about… But it was kind of a set-up. The guy who knocked you off was a friend of mine. I asked him to do so I can fake it…”

“This is senseless! You went out with me under a false pretence when your real soulmate is looking for you somewhere!”  _It also means that MY soulmate is somewhere. My real one._

Tears pooled in Sarah’s eyes. “I am not a gifted one…. It was a lie, I never lost my certificate… I don’t have any soulanium in my blood and my result were negative… What a mess. I’m so sorry, John.”

Looking away from her, John simply requests, “just take your things and leave.” As Sarah gave his ring back, a strong feeling of uneasiness falls upon him.

Without the veil that covered his soul the void, that comes with being without his soulmate mixed with the hope that someone was there for him somewhere, took its place.

**Sherlock**

_January 6 th 1996. It’s my 18th birthday…_  _Finally!_   _This is so weird._   Sherlock was with his brother in a government issue black car. “What do you do again, Mycroft, remind me?”

“I’m only the PA of a minor government official… That’s all.”  _For now_ , Mycroft smirks. “He loaned me his car as is it an important day!” He insisted on accompanying his younger brother on his visit to the official office that took care of soulmate affairs. “Don’t be nervous, brother mine, in half-an-hour it’s going to be over.”

“I’m not worried… I seriously don’t think that I have a soulmate.” He stretches out his long legs in the back of the car, happy to realize that he was nearly as tall as Mycroft now. He looks at his brother, always perfectly in control of everything.  _How is it possible to be as composed all the time! Does he feel lonely sometimes? He never talks about anything personal._

His brother, probably following Sherlock's thoughts as if he were reading a book, asks,“ and, you, how is it going with that young man of yours… Victor, isn’t?” He was of course aware of everything that was going on at the university, but he wants to know more about Sherlock's thoughts about it. “I know that I’ve told you that sentiment is not a good thing… but we are not the same and I know that you long for companionship.” He smiles benevolently, “So, how is it going?”

“Oh… it’s all right. Victor was checked a year ago and he’s not a gifted one. So, we continued as it was before.  We are friends… I help him with his studies, he helps me to fit with the others and we… do  _that_.” Sherlock was red as a bet.  _Talking about sex with Mycroft, not at the top of my wish list!_ “I think we’re good…” He didn’t talk about how Victor's persistent attention and joyful presence helped to fight back the constant tugging he feels inside him. How he helped to minimize the voices around him that constantly pushed him down. “Oh… here we are!”  The car stops in front of a sad grey building.  _And this is where people's hope is fulfilled or crushed, how fitting._

“Come on, the doctor is waiting for you.” Mycroft opens the door for his young brother.  “Don’t worry…” _All is already taken care of._

Once inside, everything went pretty quickly for something as significant as it was supposed to be. A blood sample was taken, then analysed in a lab at the back of the building. Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock was called. With a last look at his brother, who put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he walks in the small room to learn his destiny. A few minutes later, he was looking at his certificate, not listening to a word the doctor was saying.  _Negative. It’s negative_. The relief that he was feeling was dimmed by the hurt of the knowledge that he was important to no one. He knows that he’s got a difficult character, that nobody will ever love him without an exterior motive… But seeing it like that, black letters on a cream paper made it more real, somehow _.  I will never be special for anyone._ He thanks the doctor, absentmindedly, and steps out of the office to fetch his brother. “Come on Mycroft, it’s over.”

He didn’t see the glance between the doctor and the older Holmes nor the discreet exchange of money. Placing his hand on the back of a still shaken Sherlock, he guides him towards the car. Lying to his little brother was hard, but letting him build false hope knowing that he’s a gifted was impossible.  _He’s going to hate me for that one day, but it’s for the best._

  


 

**John**

In the year that followed Sarah's betrayal, John threw himself into his studying. His marks were off the chart, his residency was well on the way… His mother was proud of him, he had a lot of friends....

Not giving up on finding his soulmate, he was writing down everything he was feeling… Hoping that someday he would be able to connect the dots.  His little book was always with him, sometimes days and weeks will pass, sometimes a single day will fill pages and pages. Talking to his soulmate as if she was in front of him.

> _95/11/18 This is strange, last night I woke up suddenly with a feeling of satisfaction. I was hard for God sakes! Are you dreaming about me?_
> 
> _95/12/25 I thought about you this morning. I hope you are not alone for Christmas… Know that you are in my thoughts w-ever you are._
> 
> _96/01/06 Was feeling restless in the morning. For no reason w-so-ever. Weird. Then suddenly, my mind shut down and I felt horribly sad and alone. No real physical pain, just… I don’t know_ _how to describe it. Like if happiness wasn’t possible anymore. This is really really weird. Something must have happened to her?_
> 
> _96/01/07 I’m feeling sore like I’ve been thoroughly debauched… This is unreal. Am I supposed to feel it when you fucked someone else? If so… I’m sorry about all the time it was the other way around. And, I got the feeling that you are a man… Got nothing against it but give me few days to get used to it._
> 
> _96/02/12 Ok, no problem. I’ve look at the other men on the campus and I am clearly finding some really attractive. All is good then. Could you please just find me already?_

At 22, John was still young – many soulmates found themselves in their thirties - and he was not yet disheartened by the wait. Every morning, after opening his eyes, his first thought was for his soulmates. _Today, love, we will find each other._

Not knowing that just a few kilometres away, his soulmate was turning is back on the very idea of love...

 


	4. University part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few years later...

**John**

After Sarah, John was still a model student… But his heart wasn’t in it. Two years later, his quest for his soulmate was dragging him down. The feeling of not being complete, of a part of him missing, was constant. All day long, every time the noise around him quieten, the never-ending questions rush in his mind. _What if my soulmate is already happy with someone and not searching? What if my soulmate is dead? What if we are thousands of kilometres away!_ Questions that most gifted not yet matched were asking at a moment or another, but for John it was relentless. He was trying to not let that paralyze his life as well as his heart, but it was hard.

Still brilliant and attractive, despite the bags under his eyes and that dull look he had often in his eyes, women and men alike were attracted to him like a moth to a flame. The idea that the poor man was madly waiting for his soulmate without sleeping around was a challenge! He was able to resist without difficulty as the idea of going out when his true love was somewhere was disgusting for him. He went out with his classmates once a week, but otherwise he kept to himself, studied and thought about his other half.

Questions were flying in his head. Basic ones, like _What do you look like? Are you tall or a little bit below average like me? Are you a student? If so, which discipline? How old are you? Do you have a big family? Oh, I hope that you have an extensive family, as mine is really small! Do you want to live in the city or a village?_ But also, more insightful ones like  _Do you believe in a God or something? Have you ever loved someone? Are you in love with someone right now? Do you love your parents? Have you many friends? Do you ever feel alone? Are you waiting for me? Are you searching for me? Are you… longing for me?_

He knows few gifted in the same situation and they often chat around a beer or a coffee. But, somehow, his situation seems worse. The easy-going attitude of the others, just waiting for a positive outcome, was driving him crazy!  _How is it possible for everyone else to just go on with their lives when they are incomplete!_

 

Somehow, that strange emptiness he continuously deals with becomes worse… He was suddenly feeling hollow. Like a muppet in a play he does not know the part he is scripted to perform. Picking up his notebook, now blackened by years of notes and one-sided conversation, he wrote quickly between two classes.

> 99/03/15 What’s going on love… This morning, a terrible pain spread in each corner of my mind… It was like, I don’t know, someone shot me in the heart. I never got the feeling of unexpected happiness, maybe that’s something that the soulanium do not convey well?, but I have never felt  _that_  bad, that terribly sad. I heard a song yesterday and it make me think about you. It was saying  _Something tells me you’ve simply had enough... If you say you belong to me, I say I belong to you, I could be your painkiller… if you’ll be mine too._ We need each other so much, I need you so much!, it’s scaring me. Take care of you my sweet, know that I am here for you.

It became worse and worse… Unable to go on with his day, John had to go at the infirmary where a doctor gives him pills to help him cope.  Refusing to take them, not wanting to weaken the link, John use all his free time to meditate instead… Talking to his soulmate in his head, trying to send him - he was nearly 100% percent that it was a man - all his love and his support.  It helps, but John's sanity was sinking lower and lower…

 

One day, the pain stopped, replaced by a fog that dimed his feeling. He was happy at first for the break from constant pain but a uneasiness remains. A few months after the beginning of this numbness, John wakes up in horror in the middle of the night with the feeling that his breath was taken away, that blood was racing to his heart.

Then nothing. No pain, no sensation… Nothing. A terribly  _loud_  quietness.

_I will never find my other half… I must stop that pain, that feeling of being totally useless!_

That morning, John decided to join the army.

 

**Sherlock**

“Darling…” A naked Victor was trying to get Sherlock attention. “Do you know what day it is?” He sits on the younger man's lap, effectively blocking his view of the computer screen.

“I know that today is the last day before my work is due… Let me work!” Seeing the hurt in his friend’s eyes, Sherlock hastens to add, “please…”

“You forgot.” He rises and walk towards Sherlock's bedroomto get dressed and suddenly, he's had enough. “Why can't we stay together, like a normal couple.”

Sighing as he realizes that he couldn’t escape the argument, he asks. “What wrong with you today?” To his brother's amazement, his relationship with Victor was still going on after three years… But they quarrel frequently, mainly on the fact that Sherlock is often too distracted by his work and totally forgets Victor at times.

“It’s our three year anniversary, you moron!” Victor shouts from the bedroom, where he was putting all his things in a bag muttering. “For a genius sometimes… three years since the day I save your sorry ass… God. I’m stupid!”

Not understanding the gravity of what was going on, Sherlock protests, half heartedly “I don’t have the time for things like anniversaries, dinners in restaurant, or other senseless ‘boyfriendish’ things!” At 21 years old, Sherlock was on his way to become the youngest organic chemistry master graduate. “I have work to do!”

Leaving the bedroom with his bag, Victor tries to stay calm but his face was showing how hurt he was, even for as emotion clueless as Sherlock is, he can see it. “It was never serious for you… ever. I am just a means to be accepted by the others, a way to be normal.” With a cold voice, he accuses, “you never loved me. Never. After your 18th birthday I had hope that… but I was so stupid…"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock argues, "Again with that! Get over it! You were happy that I wasn't a gifted one if I remember correctly."

"YES! Because I was foolish enough to think that you would be happy with ME!" Victor was standing tall, near the door. "In a twisted way you were sad that you didn't have a soulmate, as if I wasn't enough, nobody was enough for you..." Tears in his eyes, he looks at the man he still love so much "I should have listened to the others, you are just a FREAK!” With that last word, he opens the door of the flat and leaves.

The little space for sentiments that Sherlock still had in him left as Victor closed the door behind. 

_Freak._

_I was stupid to think that I was finally accepted… it was only because people loved Victor, obviously. My 18 th birthday… I can’t believe he’s still talking about that! _The discussion they add was still fresh in Sherlock memory. It was right after Mycroft left him after his visit to the doctor to know if he was a gifted…

> Victor was waiting in his room, with a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers and a cake. And hope. “Love… Is everything as you want?” He asked carefully when a troubled Sherlock entered the room.
> 
> “As I assumed… It’s negative. I am not a gifted one.” The young man voice was fragile…  _I need time to think, I want to be alone!_ But at his words, Victor steps in front of Sherlock and pulls him strongly into his arms, kissing him on every place his lips can reach.  Not understanding his boyfriend's stiff attitude, the older boy was babbling.
> 
> “Oh My God… I was so afraid! I am so relieve, nothing can come between us now… Aren’t you happy, my love?” It was a rhetorical question, but Victor suddenly realized that Sherlock wasn’t responding to his kisses. “What’s wrong… Isn’t what you wanted? To get a negative result, like me?” He let go his hold and murmured “I was so afraid that someone as marvellous as you was surely a gifted, that someone will take you from me.” He smiles softly. “Now I know that I have a chance…”
> 
> “Why?” Sherlock asked barely audible.
> 
> “Why what?”
> 
> “Why do you want to have a chance to be with me… I have a terrible character, I often forget things that are important for you, I do not understand what it means to be a couple.”  _If I had a soulmate, I would have known that somewhere in the world, someone would love me just the way I am…_
> 
> “I don’t understand… Don’t be morose! Everyone is a bit moody after the test, let’s go out for your birthday.” He winks cockily, wanting to erase Sherlock sadness from his eyes, “I will give you your present later and you’re gonna feel way better!”
> 
> After a night out, they made love and as promised, Sherlock felt amazing... for a little while. 

Getting a fresh cup of tea, Sherlock sits down at his desk, not wanting to think about Victor, pushing his memories away. He worked all night without sleeping, in the morning as he was walking like a zombie to give his work to the department secretary, the rumour of his argument with Victor and the word ‘freak’ was the only think he heard. Rushing back to his place, he searches his agenda to check the next submission date _… It’s too far away… What_   _can I do in the meantime! My brain is dying of boredom!_

Without anyone around to distract him, Sherlock fell slowly but surely into depression… the sun and greenery of spring was useless to lift his humor. Hating the meds the doctor gave him, it was slowing down his mind, he turns to drugs… Cocaine to speed up his thinking, opioids to calm himself enough to sleep a few hours per week. Excessive in everything as usual, he was lost before his brother even realized the extent of the problem.  

 

Few months later, after a stern discussion with Mycroft that threatened him of being place in a private rehabilitation clinic, Sherlock was thinking in his bed, looking at the ceiling.

The image of his brother, his parents floating over him, with judgmental eyes.  _I am such a disappointment, Mycroft told me… Mommy is crying because she worried that I’m wasting my potential and Father does not know what to say. He simply repeats “I want my little boy back.” It would be easier if I wasn’t there…_

He drifts for hours, days… The radio was playing softly, it was uncustomary as he was listening mostly to classical music. Suddenly a song grips his interest.

> _I’m so tired of being restless… All of these imaginary games I keep playing in my head are pushing me into full speed in all fucking directions… I’m so tired of feeling too much… I need a little protection… Maybe just a sedative… I'm so tired of feeling too much, tired of the circus, tired of the boredom... Won’t you please, help me feel nothing at all..._

With a smile, happy that someone somewhere seems to understand, Sherlock extends his hand to take the syringe on his bedside table.  _Yes. Help me feeling nothing at all…_

 

**

They were listening to the same artist without knowing it...

Jason Bajada / [Painkiller](https://youtu.be/83OJ70OjVI0)

Jason Bajada / [Help me feels nothing at all...](https://youtu.be/nFJ7OJ3ROF8)


	5. The Pivotal Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While John is in the army, Sherlock is trying to put his life together.

**John**

He was alone in his tent, one of the few privileges of being a captain… Completely exhausted, the doctor falls on his back on his camp bed. _God, this day is finally over. It was…_  He sighs heavily and closes his eyes, tears slowly falling. In the last 24 hours they’ve lost two men as well as saving a few more that will remain handicapped for the rest of their lives... It was the worst day of his nearly three  years in the army.  _And for what? I’m not really certain of what we’re doing here!_  But orders were orders, and if Captain John H. Watson was good at anything, it was following orders.  

It _’s easier that way… I don’t have to think…_  

Appreciated by his colleagues of the medical squad and  the other soldiers, John was thriving on the battlefield and in the makeshift operation room. When the adrenaline takes over everything so that nothing about the real him can show through. He even managed a few dalliances with men and women alike, but always for a limited time only… It was clear that he wasn’t going for the long ride.  His nickname, ‘Three Nights Watson’ naturally rankled a bit, but he wasn’t able to let himself go enough to open his heart to someone. _I will never accept a pale substitute… It’s my soulmate or no one._ He always felt horrible afterwards, wondering if his soulmate was able to feel the physical release and was judging him for his weakness.

Opening his eyes with difficulty, he pulled out his notebook that was hidden under his mattress, every night he would go back and reread over what he had written in the morning. It was his eighth such book, the others safely at home. He knows that an online journal would be more practical, but he likes the feeling of rawness that his scrawl has, the way he erased sometimes or simply strikes through words or sentences.  It was honest, it was real. Opening the book at some random pages, he glanced over a few entries.

> 2002/04/25 I’ve done it you know, I am now an army doctor with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers! Oh my God… You should see me in my parade uniform! What are you doing my sweet…? I know you’re still there, somewhere. When that oppressive silence stopped a year ago I was so happy… But I wasn’t able to understand what  was going on with you. The emotions I was feeling were erratic. It was so hard to analyse them, all mixed up with that stressful time I had before being deployed in Afghanistan… Since then nothing, just numbness. Take care of you, I’m here for few years then I will try to find you, maybe near one of those agencies?  I don’t know if it’s useful… You could be anywhere.
> 
> 2002/07/27 It’s so hot today, you have no idea! Are you able to feel it? I think my skin is melting. No joke. Practically melting! Is it medically possible? Fuck I miss London sometimes! I will take a good rain instead of this heat anytime! It’s relaxed nowadays, the missions are going smoothly, without casualties. I am helping with bloody sunburn and hangovers, this is kind of ridiculous don’t you think? Am I in a summer camp? 
> 
> 2002/07/27 I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have said things like that. Of course I am happy that no one is injured. It’s just that… I don’t know why but sometimes my mind won’t stop going in all directions if I don’t have something serious to focus on. 
> 
> 2003/02/18 You have been quiet since the beginning of the month, are you well? I think so, because when I put all my energy into thinking about you, I can only feel exhilaration and excitement. But it’s followed by moments when I can’t sense anything at all… and I don’t know why?  Boredom? I don’t understand how is it possible for a gifted to be bored when in fact you are living two lives at once. You know what I mean? Or maybe my life is presently so repetitive that I can’t help you occupy your mind? This is a proof of man's adaptability when someone can say that living in an army camp is monotonous… I’m feeling horrible saying things like that. But I’ve got the feeling that you could understand that sensation. Where are you? Some of my companions have pen pal, maybe I can ask for one and maybe it will be you? I should stop wishing the impossible, as if it was so simple… 
> 
> 2004/12/24 Merry Christmas my dear love. This is silly I know to call you that but known that you are in my heart and my mind and my pants. Did I ever told you that I’m thinking about you when I wanked? Sorrrry I didn’t want to say things like that but I’m a bit drunk. I KNOW that you’re fucking sexy, I feel it. You ooze sexiness. 
> 
> 2004/12/24 ~~Are you a real person?? I am talking to little air  no air  thin air. This is ridiculous!! Why druids or gods or anyone dress in white sheet could decide the person I should love! I don’t want it anymore. Take it back… Plse I cant deal with that shit anymore. Fuck I’m tired~~
> 
> 2004/12/25 Sorry for yesterday… I was tired and I drank too much. Don’t leave me, ever. Wait for us, we will find each other. I hope that you will not be mad the day you’re going to read all that stuff.

Reading more, he smiles at how all the mixed emotions may look from an external point of view. M _y soulmate and I are clearly bipolar!_ He chuckles and takes up his pen to add a new entry.

> 2005/05/08 How are you, love? I didn’t feel a thing today, but I was terribly occupied and focussed on my work so maybe it’s just that. It was terrible, we lost men and I had to amputate a young girl's arm and an officer's leg, a veteran of many campaigns. It was horrible. But the knowledge that you were around me helps me somehow. I hope that if you felt anything from me it wasn’t too hard. I really don’t know what my soul conveys to yours. I long to talk to you about all this… We will check my notes and talk about the time of your life that correspond. I will finally be able to put names on those emotions. Do you have a journal? I know many gifted that do, but not everyone.  Got to go asleep, tomorrow is another big day. A squad is going to explore a new territory where the band that attacked us could be and I will be with them. I love those days out, with the camaraderie, the change in the pacing of the day, being on the edge all day long… I will try to pass my impression to you, I don’t know if it will work, but it is helping me to think that I can reach you at will. Good dreams, love. 

Putting the notebook back under his bed, John thought about how his feelings had changed in the last years. When he joined the army, it was to fly away from the loneliness when the communication with his soulmate stopped suddenly. It was simply to find a way fill the void and to put all his energy on something else now that his love was certainly dead. But after a few months, right after his training started, the sensation of a constant companionship returns again. Not wanting to turn down his engagement, he accepted his position in the  Fusiliers knowing that his soulmate was waiting for him somewhere. _But who knows, maybe he’s in the army and that being here is where he should be to meet him? Maybe it’s my destiny to be in Afghanistan right now?_

Smiling at the thought, he closes his eyes for the night. Tomorrow will be a long day, better to be well rested.

 

** Sherlock **

Mycroft was sitting near his brother, watching his every breath. _Is it my fault? Can it be? That Victor…_ His hands slowly strangle the handle of his umbrella, imagining that it was the man neck.  He rises his head to look at Sherlock pale complexion. _Who am I kidding, it’s me… Only me…_ _ I should have found a way to stop this!  _ The idea that his younger brother may be in this situation because of the lie he paid the doctor for three years ago never enters his mind. From time to time, generally when he thinks about his own soulmate, he congratulated himself of what he has done. _Sherlock is too fragile and emotional to deal with all that… It’s better if he rationalizes the need of his transport and does not venture into sentiment._

He came out of his reverie when the doctor in charge of the young man enters the room. 

“Mr. Holmes? Can I have a few words with you outside?” The doctor kept the door open for Mycroft and indicates the family room nearby.

“What is it, doctor? What are the results…” Mycroft, usually composed and cold, was fighting to remain calm.

“Yes, I’ve got the results, take a chairs Sir…” He motions toward a chair with his hand and sits down.  “So… What we found corresponds with what you said to us when Sherlock was admitted to ICU two days ago following his overdose.” He opens his file “Frequent user of cocaine and opioids. But it only started a few months ago following a break-up, that’s right?” Mycroft nods. “There shouldn't be any physical or mental damage, but we are keeping him under sedation for the time being, to be sure that everything is fine.” He closes the file and look at Mycroft seriously. “As it was a suicide attempt, he should consult a… Mr. Holmes?” The doctor put his hand on the other man's shoulder.  “Everything all right, Sir?”

“What did you say?” Mycroft asks, his voice uncustomarily unstable.  

“That your brother will have to consult a therapist and…”

“No, before that.” His tone was harder now.

“Oh… That it was a suicide attempt? You didn’t know? He… He didn't leave a note or something?” The doctor walks quickly to get a bottle of water for Mycroft. “Drink that… Sorry I didn’t realize that…”

Mycroft took a few sips of water, getting his control back. “Thanks for the water, doctor, sorry about that. I thought it was simply a miscalculation on his part, or a bad mix from his vendor… But it’s logical.”

“Later you’ll be able to talk with him to know his reason… You know it’s often a cry for help and not truly a desire to be dead.” He read the ambulance report ‘ _The man was found by chance because of a false fire alarm in his building and the fireman asked the lodger to open all the flats to check. It’s our estimate that 15 minutes later would have been too late.’ _“Ok, maybe not in this case… But we will give him all the psychological help he needs. He's young, he hasn’t been a drug user for long… He’s going to live thru this. Tomorrow he’s going to wake up and the recovery from this will begin.”

_ You don’t know my brother…  _ Mycroft rises and extends his hand. “Thank you doctor.”

 

The first weeks where horrible for everyone. Sherlock, Mycroft, his parents… Sherlock was his arrogant self, not wanting to be helped, not talking to the therapist, hating the group sessions… To help with the process, Mycroft paid an orderly to give his brother a soulanium suppressant. _No need to add this to all the rest…_ In fact, it didn’t change things that much for Sherlock, as he voluntarily blinded his heart, but a devastated John had suddenly completely lost the link with his soulmate… 

Slowly Sherlock calmed himself, learning to focus his energy back to the things he loved. He started reading again, Mycroft donated chemistry books to the library of the rehabilitation centre, and even thought about experiments he would like to do when he once again had access to the chemicals he needed. He was writing, working all day long and was well rested as they were giving him pills to sleep every night. He didn’t talk about his suicide attempt except to say, "it was silly, sorry, I won’t do it again!’ or discuss with the therapist, _as they know nothing anyway and have not been good enough at school to become psychiatrists_ , but everyone can see that the rough path was behind him.

He would always be an addict, his restless character and his cold way of thinking will always put him at risk of falling again. Three months after his ‘mishap’ with the syringe, he left the centre to live in London with his brother. 

That first night, while sleeping unaided for the first time in months, Sherlock dreams of being engulf in warm arms and protected against everything. Unaware that not far away, at Bart’s where he was doing a night shift during one of his first weeks of training, the omnipresent anxiety that took hold on John Watson three months earlier finally left. 

Sherlock was doing great, his brother – not wanting experiments in his pristine flat – had made an arrangement with the university and his brother was able to go use a lab two days a week as his work would serve as final project for his master's. Not wanting to tempt fate, Mycroft asks his driver to pick-up his brother each time so he can come back to the flat in London every night.  Satisfied to have a second chance, Sherlock did not protest too loudly of being considered untrustworthy. _It’s only for a few months…_

One night, while he was going back to his brother’s place from the Museum of Natural History he walked across a mews closed down by police cars and yellow ribbon. A man was gesticulating wildly and crying while cops were dragging him away from the body of a woman. As one of the policemen tells him his rights, the other one was putting manacles… _No, no, no, that’s wrong!_ Lifting the yellow tape, Sherlock walks onto the crime scene not reacting what so ever to the few policemen who try to stop him. _I am not a child anymore, I won't let him down as Carl Powers! Someone going to listen to me!_ “You’re wrong! That man didn’t kill that woman!”

“What?” The officer in charge, a man in his late forty with grey hair, turns to look at the intrusion. “Who are you?”

Not responding, Sherlock repeats as if he was talking to a five years old. “You are wrong. That _man_ over there did not killed that _woman_ on the pavement.” He pointed at the man and the woman successively to make his point.

“Donovan!” The DI calls loudly “Who let that man come onto my crime scene?”

“They tried to stop him, Sir, but he didn’t listen…”

“What the hell! Get that man out, put the suspect in a car I don’t want to hear his screams anymore!” _Oh God I need a cigarette right now!_

“He is screaming and crying because his soulmate has been killed and NO he’s not the one who did it.” Sherlock states, calmly.

Rolling his eyes, the officer looks at Sherlock. _Well dressed, not drunk, a little bit of craziness in his attitude but otherwise he looks normal…_ “I will give you two minutes. Not one second more.”

This is how DI Greg Lestrade met Sherlock Holmes. 

And this is how Sherlock found the Work.


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If "Home is where the heart is", what happens when you don't know where your home is anymore or if you barricaded your heart?

**John**

“Doctor Watson… Captain... please open your eyes for me.”  The surgeon passed her fingers in front of his eyes. With difficulty, John complies. 

“Where am I?” He asks with a scorched voice, trying to keep his eyes open. He was still in a fog, not feeling his limbs… panicking, he moves his toes then wiggles his bum slightly. _Ok, so not paralyzed._

“Now is not the time for dancing, Doctor Watson!” The experienced woman chides softly with a little smirk. “You are at BMH Rinteln. I will need you to do that again so I can officially write it down on my report. Go ahead, you know the drill… left toes then right toes.” She nods and puts a note in her report and took his right hand.  “Could you please squeeze a little. Good, thanks…” She moves on  to the other side of the bed and took his left hand. “Ok, now it’s going to be more challenging… Don’t force it, I don’t want you to open your stitches, but could you please press my hand a little…” John winces but manages to follow her directions. “Good, very good…”

“My arm… I… a bullet hit my shoulder didn’t it?” He tries to turn his head to look, but it was tricky with the bandages around his shoulder and the contraption to immobilize it. “How long… what day is it…”

Sitting in a nearby chair, the surgeon questions, “Doctor Watson… John, what is the last thing you remember?”

Closing his eyes, the memory of that day rushes to his mind. “I remember the morning, it was early… May 8th. Yes, the 8th, it was a Sunday.” The surgeon gives him a little water to help. “It was a beautiful day, clear sky… There were twenty of us… I was the only medic on board.” The faces of the men and women were flying around him. _McCartney, Thompson, Baxter, Brown… Oh my God…_ _Maxwell…_

“Take your time, John… don’t rush it.”

“We were going back to camp after an eventless day, we were maybe 250 kilometres away, when a mine exploded under the first truck of the convoy.” He drinks a little more, his throat hurting like hell. “It was horrible… I… I rushed outside and ran to the head of the group when they started to shoot at us.” Trying to calm his shaking voice, John was unable to restrain his tears. “It was late, the sun was down… A young man, Maxwell, was shot right in front of me. I dropped beside him and compressed the wound with one hand while I was getting what I needed from my bag when a second shot passed thru his head… Then I was shot in the shoulder and I fell on the road.” Finally reopening his eyes, he looks at the other doctor “You know the rest more than me, doctor…”

“It was a well organized ambush but they were only seven of them.  Half an hour after you were shot, the situation was under control and they rushed back to camp.  From the 20 you were, 3 are dead and 4 – you included – have been severely injured.” She pauses. “You’re a lucky man, Doctor Watson.”

“Severely?” John asks, his voice stern.

“You’re in for many months of rehabilitation… but everything should work properly. As to whether you’ll be able to do precision work again, only time will tell.” She rises, looking at John with compassionate eyes. “Don’t think about this for now, the more important thing is to getting better.  I read in your files that you are a gifted.” She smiles “Maybe your soulmate is presently looking for someone that got shot in the shoulder?”. The army only accept gifted that haven’t found their soulmate yet. “So something positive may come of the situation…”

John let go a derisive smile, _yes, maybe my soulmate is hating my guts presently because of the pain I put him through._ “Thanks, doctor”

** **

**Sherlock**  

It was a long case, one of the most complicated so far, and they were victorious! After weeks of intense work, Lestrade was so proud of his team, in particular, Sherlock. His decision to take him on two years ago was paying off. _It wasn’t always easy; his brother is kind of scary but that kiddo is something!_ “Gang! We’re going to the pub and I’m paying the first round! It’s Sunday but who cares! May 8th is a brilliant day for the Met!” Among his cheering crew, Greg realizes that Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Donovan, where’s Sherlock?”

“The Freak?” Sally snarls. “Why do you want to know, boss!”

“Because he’s the bloody reason why that monster is in jail tonight!” Lestrade replies severely “And stop calling him 'freak' right now! If doing the job you’re not doing well enough is what it takes to be called ‘freak’ then I know many that could have that name!” He'd had enough of that little feud!

“Sorry boss, the Fre… Holmes left few minutes ago.” She points at the door.

Running after Sherlock, Greg joins him in the street in front of NSY. “Sherlock! Wait!”

Turning quickly to look at the DI, Sherlock frowns curiously. “What? Is there’s something else? You said the paperwork can wait tomorrow so…”

“We’re all going for a pint, do you want to join us?”

“Why?” The consultant questions, surprised.

To Greg's dismay, Sherlock was asking the question honestly. _He really doesn’t expect to be a part of the gang…_ “Because you’re a bloody big part of tonight's arrest and everybody will be happy if you join us.” Greg lies with conviction.

Rising an eyebrow, Sherlock remarks “Everybody?” He smiles sadly. “Nice of you to ask, Lestrade, but I’m not really good at… mingling.”

The last years have been wonderful, exhilarating!  Finally out of his brother's flat, Sherlock found a dingy but affordable flat on Montague Street and he was thriving… Most of the time. The inactivity of his brain was driving him crazy, worse than before when compared to the high of the chase! Even with his brother and Lestrade's thorough supervision he went back to drugs a few times but was always able to get better by himself. _Not an addict, it’s therapy,_ was always his excuse  When Greg threatened him finally, at the insistence of Mycroft, to stop his work with the police if he’s high another time that he finally quit cold turkey... 

He wasn’t good at all this friend/co-worker thing but he knows he should try more so, as Greg's face was falling, Sherlock adds. “Maybe another time.” 

“Come on, Sherlock, they are good lads. Just give them a chance, I know they can learn loads just by being around you.” Lestrade was looking at the self-named consulting detective with a big smile “And don’t leave me alone with Anderson!”

Laughing, Sherlock finally gives up. _Maybe something good can come up from this… but I doubt it._ “Ok, but for only one drink…”

“Great!” Lestrade puts his arm around the tall man's shoulder and leads him to the pub.

 

 _What I am doing here… I’m going to be sick_ . He looks at his phone discreetly, it was around  7PM… They’ve been drinking for two hours. Each time the telly in the pub was talking about the arrest of the ‘The Murderer of White Lane’, the patrons of the pub were paying for shots for the Met. Obviously, Sherlock finds a way to not drink that much, but he wasn’t able to avoid all of them! After 4 or 5 shots and the whisky he was nursing slowly, he was starting to feel a little bit under the weather. Lost in his thoughts, it took three times for a plastered Lestrade to get his attention.

“Sh’lock! Sherl! Sher-lock! God you’ve got an impossible name, you know…” He smiles at the cute waitress to get more pints for the table. “And one for my friend here!” He points at Sherlock, chuckling. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and stop being cold and all… mysterious.” He murmurs to himself “Like that fucking bloody gorgeous sexy bastard brother of yours.”

“Lestrade, what did you say?” Sherlock mocks having perfectly understood every bit, while Greg mutters in his beer. _I can’t believe it, Lestrade finding Mycroft interesting…_ He looks around him, the pub was full of people flirting or already paired up. _Sentiment… How is it possible for the world to go around when everyone is mainly thinking about love and other silliness?_ But, the alcohol was slowly bringing down the wall Sherlock keeps around his heart. A fence built years ago after Victor and firmly in place since he stopped taking drugs. _I’m… I’m really better on my own. It’s easier… easier to deal with life when you have only yourself to care about._ The buzz from the alcohol was playing with his mind, opening doors he voluntarily kept close. _I am not alone anyway, I’ve got… I’ve got cases and… my family and…_

His trail of thoughts was derailed by a wave of adrenaline, then panic. _What the hell!_

He rises to get a glass of water from the pitcher on a nearby table when a violent spasm runs through his left shoulder. Crying out in pain, Sherlock drops the glass pitcher on the floor and everything became black. Lestrade, who turns at the commotion, was able to catch the young man right before he falls unconscious, on the floor covered in shards of glass.

“Call an ambulance, quick!” He shouts as he orders the removal of everything on the long pub table. With the help of one of the cop, he places the still unanimated Sherlock on the table. Now that the only thing left was to wait for the paramedics. 

 

Strangely, the ambulance brought Sherlock to a posh private hospital where Greg was feeling out of place. _I don’t understand how places like that can exist out of the NHS system!_ He was looking for someone that can help him locate Sherlock’s room when Mycroft Holmes walks through a door, dressed as he was just walking out of his office.

“Thank you DI Lestrade for the assistance. I know you had a long day, don’t worry, I will take care of my brother for the rest of the night.” 

Not wanting to leave before he knows more, Greg asks, “What’s going on? Has the doctor said anything?”

"He’s currently getting evaluated to be certain that everything is ok…” Mycroft replies, his tone cold. He was clearly wanting to cut the discussion short, but the DI wasn’t buying it.

"You know what, if it wasn’t for the fact that Sherlock is not a gifted, I would bet on a reaction to his soulmate being severely injured.” He looks into Mycroft's eyes, daring him to lie.

“Yes, but as he’s not, the explanation is elsewhere…”

“Are you certain, this is really weird, don’t you think?”

“Probably a bad reaction to alcohol and the noise of all those people, he’s not used to.” Mycroft puts on a fake smile. “Again, thank you for your help, inspector. I will let you know when my brother is available again for… work.” 

Unable to argue more without proof, Greg left the hospital with a strange feeling in his guts. The buzz from the alcohol starting to disappear, he decided to go to the office to see if someone has been shot in the left shoulder tonight.

 

A Few days after his misadventure in the pub, Sherlock was back working with Greg. The DI, still not ‘feeling it’ was looking at the young curiously. 

“What!” Sherlock explodes when he saw Greg turning his gaze away rapidly for the fifth time in the last hour. “I’m okay! I’m not a delicate flower for God sakes!” 

“Yeah, maybe. But this is weird.” Greg hasn’t found anyone in the police and hospital databases that had been shot in the shoulder that night, but he was still finding the situation curious.

“I was tired because of the case, I didn’t eat, I drank too much… That’s all! Case closed… Can we work on this real case now?” 

 

 

 **John**

“Doctors really are the worst patients!” The physiotherapist jokes, looking at John with a smile. “But you weren’t half bad...”

John laughs, happy to finally leave the hospital after 9 weeks of convalescence, even if he does not know what to do with himself now. “Thanks for everything, I will continue to do the exercises and everything.”

“They gave you a list of therapists in London, right? You will need help to put your life back on track, there's no shame in asking for support.” His look was full of concern, not able to be a soldier neither a doctor – for now at least – was something that John will have to adapt to until he founds new ground where to start his life anew.  He points at the walking stick… “And you’ll need help to get rid of that. You know that there is nothing technically wrong with your leg and…”

"I know… I know… It is just unaware that it should function normally. I will try to have a chat with it every night, maybe one morning it’s going to work nicely again.” John's jokes poorly masked his annoyance. _I know that my bloody leg is supposed to work, I am a bloody doctor!_

The army physiotherapist extends his hand to John, “Good luck, Doctor Watson, there’s a life outside the army that waiting for you.” 

With a last look to the place where he lived the last few months, John picked up his bag to go to the airport for his flight home.  John sighs, eyes closed. _Home._

**   **

 

 **Sherlock**  

 ****It’s been months now since the pub incident, but Greg was still a bit overprotective of the younger man even if no further incident occurs once the alcohol left his body, the armor around Sherlock's heart was back. “You should move out of the dump you call a flat, you know.” Lestrade never liked Sherlock's flat on Montague, too much temptation around. _He needs to find a better place._

Sherlock, who was working with Molly Hopper on a corpse found in the Thames while Greg was waiting for the report, raises his head. “I don’t have enough money for a nicer flat… Maybe I should start to charge your boss?” Sherlock replies with a smirk while Molly giggles clearly smitten by the consultant. Waiting for the moment when she leaves the lab to get coffee, Greg asks as smoothly as possible. 

“Are you… do you… you know… Molly and you? Is everything going… well” _Oh Boy… I’m too old for this.._

Sherlock frowns, clearly not understanding Greg’s insinuation “What are you talking about? Yes, we work together well I think. Why?” 

Not wanting to leave the subject, Greg hastens to add, “You are aware that she’s clearly… interested in you.”  

“Molly?” Sherlock turns toward the door where the pathologist left a few minutes ago “Don’t be daft… Anyway, I’m gay.” _And I don't want to be attached, to anybody._

“Oh… okay… that’s a good reason. Maybe it would be better to explain the situation to her because, you know... you don’t want to give her false hope.” On these words, the door opens to Molly and her colleague Mike.

“Hello Sherlock! I’ve got the result you were looking for yesterday…” Mike places a file on the lab table. “Hope it helps with that cold case.”

“Thanks Mike! I will take it home tonight and give it back to you as soon as possible.”

“You’ll be better to stay here to analyse the data.” Greg smirks “Better than catching tetanus in your flat!”

“I’ve got my eyes on a nice flat…” Sherlock protests. “I will move as soon as I get more money!” 

Mike breaks into  the conversation, “Would you consider a flatmate?”

“Really Mike, who would want me as flatmate…” _I’m honest enough to know that I’m not an easy person to live with…_

“Or I’m certain that your brother can give you money…” Greg proposes.

With a scandalized face, Sherlock shout "Over my dead body!” 

“You’re at the right place for that!” Molly jokes.

“No don't tell jokes, Molly. Don’t do that.” Sherlock shakes his head then, as if he just realized what Greg said ten minutes earlier he adds in a rush, “oh, and by the way, I’m gay... So. Not interested.”

Turning back to his microscope as Molly was leaving the room in tears, Sherlock thought about the idea of having a nice flat, not just a place to sleep and put his things.

_A home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are nice, they will probably meet each other in the next chapter :-)
> 
> Note: BMH Rinteln is a British Military Hospital located in Rinteln, Germany.


	7. Home - part 2 (The meeting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly different version of the original meeting in SiP.

Later that day, John was walking through a square, still aided by his cane.  To his dismay, although his shoulder was getting better and it was realistic to think about going back to be a doctor, a GP at least, his leg was still obstinately hurting.   _Bloody leg, I can’t believe I’m still limping like an eighty year old veteran!_ His weekly visits to his therapist, Ella, were doing nothing. _Writing a blog, Right, as if writing down that I’m doing nothing was actually doing something to help me! Hello, my name is still John H. Watson. I drank a cuppa this morning, went out to buy the newspaper and walked in the park with my fucking cane! There's a Pulitzer waiting for me for sure!_ Lost in his thoughts he didn’t realized that someone was calling after him.

“John! Is it you? John Watson!” 

Stopping, John turns as a happy Mike Stamford rushes towards him with a huge grin. “God! Is it really you, mate? It’s me, Mike Stamford! What a chance, a few minutes later and I will have missed you!”

“Mike!…” John replies with a tight smile. “Last time was…”

“In college!” In fact, as they went in different colleges, the friendship didn’t really survive high school even if they had met a few times since then. Mike, still smiling, passes a hand on his belly. “Yeah, I know. I got fat!”

“No, no, you look exactly the same!” John protests, somewhat uneasy at seeing his old friend. Appearing as a failure was the worst… this is why he choose London, for the anonymity that living amongst millions can provide. “Anyway, look at me.” His joking tone not hiding his shame. “Long gone is the school’s hero!”

Pointing at his stick, Mike asks ,“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”

“I got shot.” John replies, his smile a bit tighter. 

“I’m on break and I was getting a coffee, want one? For old times' sake?” Mike offers.

Suddenly tired of being alone, not wanting to go back to his dark bedsit, John – without knowing why – heard himself replying, “yes, why not…”

 

A few minutes later they were sitting in a café. Mike, a bit concerned by John’s aloofness, was looking at him worried.  Sensing his old friend gaze, John tries to make small talk… “And you Mike, where are you working now?”

“Me? Oh… Nothing glamourous. I’m a government employee, assistant-director of a sort.  I used to work for an hospital in York, but I changed to Bart’s three years ago… My wife comes from London so, you know how it is.” He laughs, the affection for his wife clearly showing.

“Yeah… I can imagine. I  did a part of my training at Bart’s before leaving, it’s a good place.” 

“Yes, great teams, good doctors and all.  I am more on the administrative side of things, but I’m good at getting things done.” He chuckles, shaking his head, clearly thinking about funny situations. “And you, what are you planning to do now? Do you want to stay in London?”

John, looking clearly defeated, mutters, “I wish… But I can’t afford London on an Army pension.” 

“But you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.” He pauses, searching his words but finally decides to be honest. “You used to go after the things you wanted… Feeling sorry for yourself, that’s not the John Watson I know.” Mike knows that he's being hard on his old friend, but it was breaking his heart to see him like that. Speaking more quietly, he brought up the subject John was dreading. “If I may ask… Have you ever found… found your soulmate?”

Looking at his coffee, the ex-soldier closes his eyes and sighs. “No… I haven't... but I know he’s there.” _Probably hiding from me now!_

Wanting to relax the atmosphere, Mike jokes “Still certain that he's  a ‘he’ I see! Too bad you’re still alone mate, you could have split the rent!” Still chuckling at his own bad joke, he suddenly remembered the conversation with Sherlock. “Maybe you can get a flashare?”

“Come on, who’d want me for a flatmate?” John laughs at the idea, but he realizes that Mike was dead serious. “What?”

“Just funny, you’re the second person to say that to me today.” _I think it’s going to be a perfect fit! As Sherlock don’t do relationships, it will be easier on John until he founds his soulmate than living with a lovesick flat mate._ “We’ve got brand new labs; do you want to go for a tour?” Mike suggests, with a big smile.

 

The lab was tranquil with only Sherlock using a table covered in Petri dishes and a microscope. _What a waste of my time, this is so easy… it wasn’t even a 4,_ Sherlock thinks as he contemplates the result of his test. He raises his head as Mike knocks on the door. He nods, going back to his work as Mike enters the lab with an unknown person. 

First glimpse. _A limping unknown person._

Second glimpse _. A limping unknown ex-military._

John smiles honestly for the first time in ages, as he looks around the space. “Well, bit different from my day! They finally put some money into these labs…” He turns to read the names of the different machine and murmurs,“fucking miracle if you ask me.”  

Third glimpse. _A limping unknown ex-military/doctor. Could be interesting._

Sherlock, being perfectly aware that the money came from his brother, inwardly smirks. _Mycroft, the guardian angel._ “Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.” 

“Sorry. It’s in my office.” Frowning, Mike inquires, “and what’s wrong with the landline?”

“I prefer to text.” 

John, fishing his phone in his back pocket, walks closer to Sherlock's space, and puts the phone down. “You can use mine if you want, I don’t mind.”

Mike, looking at Sherlock with affectionate warmth, finally introduces the men. “Sherlock, this is an old friend of mine, John Watson.”

“Oh. Thank you for the phone.” And he extends his hand to take the phone and types quickly, not looking at John. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” 

John, looking confused, turns to Mike who was just smirking with a knowing smile that was silently saying ‘go for it mate, you’re in for a treat!’.

Clearing his voice, John answers quietly, “Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?”

Still using the phone, Sherlock, not acknowledging John’s reply, asks, “how do you feel about the violin?”

“I’m sorry, what? Are you talking to me?”

Looking into the microscope one last time before writing something in his notebook, the detective continues the one-sided conversation “I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” The big smile he puts on is clearly fake. 

_Who the hell is this mad man! Why is he talking about flat mates? Mike!_ “Oh, you ... you told him about me?”

Finding the whole situation utterly amusing, Mike singsongs, “not a word!”

John, more and more confused, looks at Sherlock with a questioning glare. “Then who said anything about flat mates?”

Sherlock was already on his way out, putting on a long coat. “I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn’t that difficult a leap.”

Not wanting to let the git get his way too easily, he questions, “how did you know about Afghanistan?” But the subject was clearly closed to Sherlock as he simply ignores John.

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.” He turns towards John before adding “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” 

 John was furious, who is this man who thinks he can manipulate him like this! Sarcastically he asks. “Is that it?”

Turning away from the door, Sherlock asks in turn,“is that what?”

“We’ve only just met and we’re going to look at a flat? To live in. Together.”

Not seeing anything wrong with the scenario, Sherlock frowns. “Problem?”

Rolling his eyes at Mike – who was still smiling like an idiot – John bursts out, finally, “we don’t know a thing about each other; I don’t know where we’re meeting; I don’t even know your name!”

Scanning the ex-soldier closely, Sherlock quickly deduces. “I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?” The smugness of his tone nearly causes him to be knock out by John! Not realizing how much a dickhead he has been, he walks to the door before adding “The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.” He winks at a dumbfounded John before disappearing.

At John's bemused face, Mike laughs. “Yeah. He’s always like that.”

 

Suddenly, the door opens  and Sherlock rushes into the lab. “Forgot something.” He raises his left hand which was still holding John’s phone and extends it in direction of the doctor. “Sorry, nearly leave with it!” 

Automatically extending his hand to take the phone, John’s fingers innocently touch the tall man's hand. 

And he was lost…

The sensation that went through his whole body was something that he had never experienced… It was not heat, not coldness, not static, nor desire. 

 _What the hell is happening?_  

It was as if suddenly everything that composes what John H. Watson was finally aligned. In unison… Complete.

As if that tall _insufferably gorgeous_ man was the key. 

The last piece of the puzzle. 

It was as if he finally found home… _Oh My God, could he be?._

Smiling once again apologetically and not realizing John's turmoil, Sherlock lets go a cheerful “Afternoon!” before exiting for good, leaving a stunned John behind. Reaching for a nearby stool, John sits shakily, unable to stand anymore. His heart was beating a frantic rhythm, his palms were sweaty… _What the hell is happening to me?_

“John?” Mike calls, before trying a little louder. “John? Are you all right?” As his friend was remaining silent, he asks. “Is it your leg? Do you need help or something for the pain?” Muttering about the fact that they were in an hospital after all, Mike was walking out of the lab to get a nurse when John’s voice stops him.

“No, no… It’s all right. Just need to rest a bit, it’s been a long day. I’m going to go back home, if you don’t mind.” Still shaking a bit, John rises from the stool, putting his weight on the cane.  After exchanging phone numbers with Mike and the promise of a pint later in the month, he leaves in a cab, he really needed the luxury, wanting to be alone as soon as possible. Closing his eyes to remember precisely the encounter with the tall man, _the tall beautiful infuriating man if I must be precise_ , the ride home went quickly.

 

Less than an hour after meeting Sherlock – _Oh God, he’s got a name!_ \- John was alone in his room. Alone with the emotions that were flooding every corner of his mind. _Where’s Ella when I need her?_ He questions sarcastically. Calmer but more excited that he has been in ages, John opens his phone to look to the last message. _If brother has green ladder arrest brother. SH_ _What the hell? Who are you Sherlock Holmes? Ok Watson, time to be rational. What happened exactly? The steps of the operation! Military precision!_ Getting out his notebook, he starts writing on a blank page.

> 2005/09/04 I don’t know what to think but… is it you? Could it be you? Finally, after all this time?   If not, I’m sorry about what I’m going to write and I will remove this page from the notebook, I promise.  
> 
> So… I will try to be as rational as possible. This is what happened.
> 
>   1. I meet Mike by chance in a public place
>   2. He asked me if I want to visit Bart’s new labs and I said yes…
>   3. A man was in one of the lab, working. When I saw him (you?), I thought he was the most gorgeous man I have ever seen.  Not just beautiful, but sexy and striking. And he was working with the lab equipment so he’s probably not an idiot, which is good.
>   4. He asked for a cell phone and I gave him mine.
>   5. Matter of factly, he explained that he has his eyes on a flat that we can afford if we are living together.
>   6. He was able to read from me (How did he do that?) that I was ex-military and a doctor.
>   7. He winks and I nearly came in my pants.
> 

> 
>  What do I know about him (you? God this is confusing!)
> 
>   1. Sherlock Holmes, 221b Baker Street
>   2. Knows his way around a lab. Scientific? Medical profession? 
>   3. The text talked about arresting someone. Forensic?
>   4. He’s the sexiest bastard I have ever laid my eyes on.
>   5. He knows Mike.
>   6. Plays violin.
>   7. Often doesn’t talk for days.
>   8. Own a riding crop!
> 

> 
> Okay, now that I lay on the fact… Here is the troubling part.
> 
> The minute my eyes fall on you, I was lost, you were so damn sexy that I felt alive for the first time in months. Then you acted a bit like a jerk (Yes, you were!) but you found all those things about me and it was brilliant… The feeling that your attention was focused on me, only me… After being invisible to everyone for so long, it was… it was like getting water after a walk through a desert.
> 
> Then you left and it was as if someone shut down the light in the room at the same time. I looked at Mike with a questioning look because WHO are you! WHAT are you to me!
> 
> A minute later, everything became clear, when our hands touch. It was like the end of a long journey... You can only be my love. Mine.

After he scrawls pages of 'John & Sherlock', 'Sherlock & John', 'John Holmes-Watson' - _Oh My God, I will finally been able to say that the H. is for Holmes, not boring Hamish!_ \- and finally 'Sherlock Watson-Holmes' John closes his notebook before falling on his bed, grinning like a child on Christmas.  _Tomorrow I will see you again._

_   _

_   _

On the other side of the city, a woman enters the sober but elegant office of Mycroft Holmes. “Sir?”

Not moving his eyes from the papers in front of him, the government man asks, “yes, Anthea?” 

“He saw one of them this afternoon and by the reaction the man had, I think it’s the one.” She looks at her Blackberry. “The name is Doctor John H. Watson.”

“Watson…” He closes his eyes, thinking “The one in the Army then,” He smirks “… better than the European criminal that was stabbed in prison!” After Sherlock episode, Mycroft had used his considerable contacts – more effective then Lestrade! – to get a list of the people that were severely injured at the shoulder at that exact moment.   “Do you think something may come of  it…” Mycroft inquires, frowning at the complication.

Anthea smiles “Sherlock didn’t react at all, as expected as he blocks this part of his psyche but…” 

“Great. Just make sure that they don’t meet again.”

“… They are visiting a flat tomorrow, Sir.”


	8. 221b

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second meeting... in Baker Street. 
> 
> (SiP AU part 2)

In the morning, John's first thought was of Sherlock. _Sherlock_ … _The joy of having a name!_ The searches he made the evening before gave him little information about the man. _He’s a kind of detective, that’s exciting!_ Now that the exhilaration subdued, he wasn’t able to stop himself from analysing the situation from an outsider's point of view. _I am a cripple, ex-army, not really a doctor anymore… I’ve got PTSD, with nightmares and all. No job… No money… He’s so beautiful and brilliant.  But if we are soulmates we must suit each other in a way, right?_ _No, not ‘if’ we are soulmates, there is no other logical explanation for my reaction yesterday. It was like most of the stories I’ve read about first meetings. The feeling of finally being complete… Maybe he’s the brain and the beauty and I am the only one able to deal with his horrible character?_ He laughs softly, thinking about how insufferable the git had been yesterday. _I wonder what he’s doing at the moment… Does he think about me? God, it’s going to be horrible to wait for our next meeting!_

Knowing that he’s going to move shortly, he occupies himself with putting his few things in some kind of order. Looking at the few boxes, he was thinking on how much little space his whole life currently occupied. A bag with his army fatigues, dog tags and his medals. A gym bag of clothes and a box for the rest:  his favourite CDs, novels, grooming needs.  In a neat pile near his computer his most precious possessions, his note books.  _How I long to read them with Sherlock, I hope he kept something…._ Other than that, there were boxes of books and photo albums that were still in storage.  And, that’s all. All he had accumulated in his life so far, ready to start anew.

_   _

Sherlock was in a cab heading in the direction of Baker Street, a small smile on his face. If everything goes smoothly, I will be leaving Montague for good! _Thank God!_ He was positive about the outcome and already moved some of his things to the flat last evening. _I hope that the flat will be nice enough for Doctor Watson._ Thinking about the man he met the day before, he was satisfied with his choice _.  I think it could be a nice compromise even if I prefer being alone…_ _and a doctor can become handy at some time!_ He smirks, remembering his last scuff with a criminal.   _I just hope he’s going to be able to cope with my lifestyle, he looked a little bit shaken yesterday. Probably PTSD, poor man._ “Here!”

_   _

Sherlock was paying for his cab as John reaches 221b. He waits for Sherlock to walk over towards him before gathering the courage to speak. “Hello… uh… Mr. Holmes.” He wanted to extend his hand, to renew the contact they had yesterday… but he was too stressed out already to do so; Paralysed by the opinion that Sherlock must have of him. He was as beautiful as yesterday, his curls askew because of the wind, his eyes gleaming with joy _. I can't believe that man is mine… He was worthy of the wait._  

The detective interrupts his thoughts. “No, no, no need to be that formal John… Sherlock will do!” 

Not knowing what to say, emotions rising as he hears his name coming from those lips, John retreats to the safety of small talk. “Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she’s a friend of the family plus she owes me a favour so she’s giving me a special deal.” At John's questioning glance, he grins as he remembers. “A few years back, her ex-husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out…” He smiles as he knocks on the door.

“Sorry – you stopped her ex-husband from being executed?” _Okay, that’s impressive!_

Winking at John, Sherlock explains. “Oh no. I ensured it. One of my first real cases.” But it was too late for John to investigate further as Mrs. Hudson opens the door and wraps her arms around Sherlock.

“Sherlock, hello my boy!” She hugs him strongly .“Oh God, you’re too thin!” Looking at John, she smiles. “Is this your friend?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson, this is Doctor John Watson.”

_ Oh… a nice doctor… _ “Hello… Come in… Come in!”

Getting inside as Mrs. Hudson closes the door, Sherlock quickly runs up to the first floor before realising that John was still in the lobby, looking at the stairs. _Oh! His leg… I didn’t think about it. But exercise his good for rehabilitation!_ “Come on, John, it’s the perfect place!”

Finally arriving on the landing, John waits for Sherlock to open the door. _He could have walk the stairs with me, or at least not fly up them like a kid. Ella is going to be pleased… it’s the ultimate proof that the pain in my leg is psychosomatic as Sherlock do not seems to be affected by it at all!_ But his negative thoughts were pushed away when he enters the flat. He walked into a big living room, with space for one or two desks, a small kitchen perfect for two and… “Is this a working fireplace? That’s great!” He spins to look around, trying to evaluate the possibilities once the boxes and junk is removed. “Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed…”

With a big smile, Sherlock interrupts “Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So, I went straight ahead and moved in…”

“Just need to get all this rubbish cleaned out ...” John suddenly realizes what the other man was saying “Oh. So this is all yours ...”

Not liking the way John’s verdict was making him feel, Sherlock quickly tries to tidy a little bit. “Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit…”

“That’s a skull.” _A skull, on the fireplace. The man is crazy._

“Friend of mine…”

The return of Mrs. Hudson cut John’s query about the friend in question… “What do you think, then, Doctor Watson?” The cute old lady adds with twinkles in her voice. “Of course, there’s another bedroom upstairs if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.” 

John looks at Sherlock, his heart fluttering. _What did he tell her…?_ _Does she know that we are soulmates?_ He is sharply broken of his reverie when an irritated Sherlock states, “Of course, we’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

“Oh, don’t worry; there’s all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door got married ones and a couple of soulmates are living a little further down the street.” 

“Don’t be daft, Mrs. Hudson. You are way too romantic for your own good… So, John, is it ok for you? If you don’t mind the stairs, I could take the room next to the kitchen, as I usually have a random schedule.”

Still stunned about the way Sherlock casually denied that they were something more than flat mates, John nods and murmurs. “Upstairs is fine, it will be quieter.”

“Great, deal then!” The tall man extends a hand to shakes John’s hand. Upset about the meeting which didn’t turn out as he thought, John instinctively puts his sturdy but smaller hand in Sherlock’s large and elegant one. And there it was… again. Not as spectacular as yesterday, subtler… _It’s as if my whole body was humming, happy to touch his other half.  I understand now why mom always said she was purring when she touched my dad!_ His eyes fall on Sherlock face, trying to read if he was feeling the same. He saw curiosity, concern, a bit of annoyance… But nothing more. _He’s feeling nothing for me, how can it be possible!_

“Are you all right John? You look flushed… Is it the stairs? We didn’t talk about your injury. You know you can take the downstairs bedroom for a while if you want… I don’t mind.” 

Summoning all the courage he adds left, John mutters “No, everything’s ok… A bit tired maybe.” Looking at the doctor curiously, Sherlock uncustomarily let the subject go as he was beyond thrilled to finally move out from his dingy flat! 

“Oh, Sherlock. The mess you’ve made.” Mrs Hudson was looking at the various things that were all over her once tidy flat. She smiles as John sits heavily in a chair. _I think this is exactly what Sherlock needs, someone more subdued, calmer… He can't continue to run everywhere as he does!_

As John was trying to calm the emotions that were flooding him, his new flat mate was still trying to tidy up his books and chemistry equipment. _Oh God, what should I say! What can I do! Is it possible?_ A few stories of one-sided soul mates were circulating on the internet, but most of them were urban legend. Not wanting the malaise to grow stronger, he breathes out slowly and, matter-of-factly, says, “Sherlock, I looked you up on the internet last night.”

Flattered, Sherlock turns to look at his new flat mate, with a rise hair brow. “Anything interesting?”

“Sort of. Found your website, The Science of Deduction.”

With a big proud smile, the detective asks. “What did you think?”

John shrugs. “You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb.”

Not liking the look on the doctor’s face - _which is ridiculous because why would the opinion of an ex-soldier be of any importance to me!_ Sherlock retorts, “yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother’s drinking habits in your mobile phone.”

“How?” But the git simply smiles mockingly and turns towards Mrs. Hudson who was reading the newspaper.  

“What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought they'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same.” 

As the sound of a car pulling in front of the building brought Sherlock to the window, the detective simply states with a smirk. “Four.” The lights flashing on the roof of the police car were reflected inside the flat. “There’s been a fourth. And there’s something different this time.”

With horror, Mrs. Hudson echoes “A fourth!” But Sherlock didn’t have the time to add something as Lestrade enters the living room.

“Where?” Sherlock calls out quickly. 

A defeated Lestrade simply utters, “Brixton, Lauriston Gardens.”

“What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t have come to get me if there wasn’t something different.”    


Passing his hand in his silver hair, the officer explains, “you know how they never leave notes? This one did. Will you come?”

_Oh. My. God. This is big._ With a calm voice that was hiding his excitement, he inquires, “who’s on forensics?”

Knowing that it was not what Sherlock wanted to hear, Greg announces quickly, “Anderson.”

“Anderson won’t work with me. I need an assistant!” _No! Not that incompetent! It's a big case, I’ve been waiting for something like this!_

As he was heading to the door, Lestrade asks again, the urgency plain in his voice. “Will you come?”

“Not in a police car. I’ll be right behind.” 

“Thank you.” And after a brief, curious look at John, Greg rushes down the stairs. 

 

The apparent calmness of the young man remains intact until the front door bangs. Jumping in the air and nearly clapping his hands, Sherlock turns to kiss Mrs. Hudson noisily.  “Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it’s Christmas!” He picks up his coat and his scarf, clearly on his way out. “Mrs. Hudson, I’ll be staying here tonight but I’ll be late. Might need some food.”

Frowning with an undertone of affection, Mrs. Hudson chides, “I’m your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper.”

“I won’t tell my mom, I promise. Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don’t wait up! Bye bye!” Then he disappears from the flat.

Chuckling and shaking her head, Mrs. Hudson remarks “Look at him, dashing about! But you’re more the sitting-down type, I can tell.” At that, John winces. _I was a bloody soldier for good grace!_ “I’ll make you that cuppa. You rest your leg.”

“DAMN MY LEG!” John fumes loudly before looking apologetically at the old lady “Sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing ...” He knocks his leg with his cane.

Patting his shoulder, Mrs. Hudson says with sympathy, “I understand, dear; I’ve got a bad hip.” 

“A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Calling from the kitchen, the landlady insists, “Just this once, dear. I’m not your housekeeper!”

   
 

As he waits for the tea, it was John’s turn to took the newspaper.  The front page was about a wave of suicides that was causing problems for the police. The man in charge of the cases was… _DI Lestrade! It’s the man who was there just a moment ago! What the Hell!_ As he starts to read the article, Sherlock returns to the flat.

“You’re a doctor. In fact, you’re an Army doctor.”  

“Yes.” Not wanting to look decrepit, John rises and walk towards Sherlock. 

“Any good?” A curious and interested Sherlock asks.

With confidence and a defiant tone, John claims, “very good.” 

“Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths. Bit of trouble too, I bet.” 

The tall man was analysing the doctor's every move as John replies quietly,  “of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much.”

“Want to see some more?” A resolute detective offers.

The light in John’s eyes returned instantly. “Oh God, yes.”

 

A few hours later, John was finally having his cup of tea… _What a night!_   The taxi ride where Sherlock explains how he _deduced_ him. _That was magnificent!_ The crime scene with the deductions flying everywhere, the amazed face of Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan – _I hate those two, how could they insult Sherlock!_ – The pink case, the detective using his phone to contact the murderer. The kidnapping by the James-Bond-girl-lookalike and the weird discussion with the dapper criminal-mastermind who was in fact Sherlock’s older brother! 

Sherlock was still clueless about their bond, but they were now living together officially!  _ And working together, that’s weird! _ _But the lookout in the restaurant… I must be careful!_  The awkward discussion was still running in his head. _What an idiot!_

> Angelo was setting a candle on the table “It’s more romantic!” He was beaming that Sherlock finally brought a date!
> 
> “Cut it out Angelo, it’s not a date!” Sherlock frowns, looking outside as he puts down his menu. “You may as well eat. We might have a long wait.”
> 
> Once John has his plate and was eating, unsurprisingly hungry, he tries to get the attention of the detective who was still looking outside, as signs of impatience were starting to show. “You know, about that man that kidnapped me to have a little talk… There’s something that I don’t understand.” He pauses. “People don’t have arch-enemies.”
> 
> Finally turning his gaze on John, Sherlock says “Sorry?”
> 
> Happy to have been able to start a conversation, John elaborates. “In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen.” 
> 
> “Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull.” He was already turning back to look at the window. “What do real people have, then, in their ‘real lives’?” The disgust on the last words was clearly audible.
> 
> Seeking information, John lists “Friends; people they know; people they like; people they don’t like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ... Soulmates.”
> 
> “Yes, well, as I was saying – dull.”
> 
> _It doesn’t help! Do I have competition, why are you not reacting to ME! Your heart belongs to someone else?_ _One thing at the time John…_  “You don’t have a girlfriend, then?”
> 
> “Girlfriend? No, not really my area.”
> 
> “Oh… Boyfriend then?” As Sherlock looks at him with the corner of his eyes still surveying the street in front of the restaurant, John quickly adds. “Which is fine, by the way.”
> 
> “I know it’s fine. Yes, I’m gay if it’s what you are fishing for…” 
> 
> Happy that at least that part wasn’t going to be an obstacle, he cautionary suggests, “So, you’ve got a boyfriend then?” His heart was pounding as he was waiting for Sherlock 'sreplies. 
> 
> “No. Haven't had one for years.” Memories of Victor brought a quick flash of pain in Sherlock’s eyes but it disappeared in an instant.
> 
> Trying to look unmoved by Sherlock apparent availability, John mutters shakily. “Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me.” He looks at the candle, then at his plate. “Fine. Good.”
> 
> John will never forget the humiliating look of concern Sherlock gives him for a few seconds… “John, um ... I’ve already deduced that you are a gifted one… And I don’t want to be brutal but I’m really not interested of being something on the side while you’re waiting for love…” Blushing, the conversation was clearly uneasy for him, he continues. “I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any...”

 

Sherlock sits in front of him, in what was quickly becoming ‘his’ chair, with an embarrassed look and interrupts the doctor self-flagellation. “John… I want to thank you once more for what you’ve done for me tonight… It was crazy because I would never have taken the pills” Even Sherlock wasn’t believing himself! “But… to… to… be ready to be prosecuted for murder just to save me.  That was… good.”

“I couldn’t let someone as brilliant as you die because you are bored to death and like a challenge, could I?” John jokes but with a serious tone.  

“Brilliant? Really? That’s new. People never say that.” The detective ponders with a huge but timid smile.

Curious, John asks mildly,“What do they usually say?”  

Sherlock grins smugly “Piss off!” 

As John restrains a chuckle with difficulty as he looks into the dying fire, Sherlock suddenly feels better than he has in years.


	9. Up until the pool...

In the first few months after that first case that brought them together as a team, Sherlock was quickly becoming all too aware and worried about the importance that John already had as his flatmate, partner on cases, and one and only true friend. _How can_ _someone so ordinary have such a hold on me? Since when do I care about someone else's opinion, why does he matter so much?_

Other than that, he remains clueless at the potential significance of John in his life. 

It was driving the doctor crazy at first, but now that time has passed he was more serene.  _At least, Sherlock is not attracted to anybody, so I don’t have to fight for his non-existent affection!_ Dealing with the situation mostly on his own was nevertheless horrible. Not trusting Ella, who gave information voluntarily or not to Mycroft, he never confides in her.  Most of his friends were from the army and it was a sensitive subject that he didn’t want to talk about with his drinking buddies! Molly, Greg or Mike were equally out of the question as they were friends to both of them. His only open-hearted discussions about his condition were with his mother. He spoke with her on the phone at least once a week, pouring out all of his doubts, his torments to her ever attentive, patient ears.  He even confided how being near the sexy man constantly set all of his senses on fire. She didn’t understand why Sherlock was blocking his feelings, but she was getting the different emotions that her son was feeling one after the other, often all in the same day!  

The bliss of having his soulmate near was intoxicating; the buzzing, calming feeling when they touched. It was innocent touches of course, when he was handing Sherlock something or when they brushed against each other in the tiny kitchen or bathroom. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, most of the time. But the impulse was sometimes too strong to resist! On these occasions, Sherlock's gently questioning eyes were the worst. Like a knife in his heart. 

John wasn’t able to stop himself from doing research about his situation, as discreetly as possible which was nearly impossible when you live with a man like Sherlock Holmes! The need to find a solution was becoming an issue, especially during those times after he felt a resurgence of the link between them. As hard on himself that Sherlock was, he wasn’t able to control everything! So, when the man was vulnerable, shocked, wounded… John was able to feel the detective's emotions and pains. But as soon as he was back in control, the wall was back up, higher than ever. That was what hurt the most, the lost, the emptiness that followed those glimpses of what their life together could be! The doctor, who had his own share of injuries while on cases, has never seen a glimpse that those feelings were reciprocated. Aside from that annoyingly cruel fact, life with Sherlock was… definitely something else and John wouldn’t have exchanged it for anything. His mum was urging him to talk to the man, but his fear of losing what they already had was too strong. Also irritating, were that everyone was trying to set him up with a nice girl, someone ‘just perfect for him’! _If only they knew..._

 

Thinking about how the last days have been particularly crazy, with that twenty year old case of the boy who died in a pool, John rises from his desk. He’s been working all morning on his last post for the blog (A story that he called ‘The Blind Blanker’ at Sherlock’s annoyance) and now he was hungry.  Even if they were in the middle of a case, he –  _contrary to someone else's beliefs_  - needs to eat. “Sherlock, I’m going out to Tesco, do we need something?” The doctor shouts from the kitchen as he was surveying the contents, of the fridge. As usually in middle of a difficult case, it was empty except for Sherlock’s experiment. _What exactly is that, anyway?_ “Sherlock, is that meat or…” Opening the Tupperware he realizes it was a muscle _. A bicep. A bloody human bicep!_ “SHERLOCK! What did we say about human remains in the fridge! LABELS!!!"

“Don’t fuss John, meat is meat…” The beautiful git mumbled as he swanned gracefully out of his bedroom, simply wrapped in a sheet. At the vision in front of him, the doctor's idea to switch to veganism flew from his mind. With the strange events that were going on, it was a miracle that the detective had finally relented and slept a few hours. He points at the pink phone on the kitchen table. “Any calls?"

“No, nothing new…” Turning his gaze to avoid the temptation of pushing Sherlock back on his bed with him as wrapping instead of the sheet, John picked up his list and departed quickly from the flat without another word.

Grumbling over having to make his own tea, as John didn't leave him any, Sherlock was reflecting upon his flat mate's attitude. How he was always averting his eyes, retreating alone to his room more often, just to talk on the phone. _That’s weird… He always been secretive but this is something else. He often looks lovesick, as if he was longing for someone. Had he found_ _his soulmate? Oh God, no please…_ For a moment or two he realized he was being selfish, then shook it off, then closed his eyes and went for a tour in his Mind Palace to analyze John's behavior since the moment they met, and tried to deduce the source of his malaise hoping that it wasn’t ‘soulmate’ related. 

A few hours later, Sherlock was finally getting out from his Mind Palace to find that the flat was now cloaked in darkness. _Wh_ _at time is it? Oh… it’s been hours. Where’s John?_ He opens the fridge to realize that it was as empty as before…  _He never came back?_ Running up the stairs to his friend bedroom, he finds it empty as well.  _What’s going on?_ As he came back to the lounge , the pink phone pings... 

 

Sherlock opens the door and enters the big space surrounding an indoor swimming pool.  It was gloomy,  it was only lit with a few buzzing fluorescent lights and the reflection on the water. Walking slowly, he tries to analyze his surroundings but most of the space was in total darkness. Spinning around at a slight rustle, his heart stops when his eyes fall on John. Sherlock heart nearly stops at the thought of his friend being the responsible for all that madness... _No, it can't be possible. I couldn't have misjudged him so entirely!_

“Evening…” John says with a mechanical edge, as if it weren’t really him speaking.  “This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

Understanding at once that John had become the puppet of the criminal mastermind, Sherlock utters with anger “What the hell ...?”

“Bet you never saw this coming.” The doctor opens his parka so Sherlock can see the bomb that was strapped to him. “What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?”   
  
Losing his temper, the detective shouts to his invisible opponent .“Stop it!” 

John was still forcibly repeating everything. “Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him.  I can stop John Watson too. Stop his heart.” As he pronounces the last word, a red dot appears on John’s torso.  The doctor, afraid for his life but even more for Sherlock’s, silently swears.  _Shit. Shit. Shit._

As usual when a situation gets worse, Sherlock rises to the challenge. Looking with disgust at the red dot, he asks loudly “Who are you?” A door opens in front of him, at the end of the pool.  A voice reverberating in the confine place before he was able to see who it was. 

“I gave you my number.” The voice was sugary with a distinctive Irish accent. “I thought you might call.”

Sherlock flashed back to Bart’s lab. That awkward moment when Molly’s boyfriend flirted with him. John’s look of frustration at the scene…  _Why did John acted like that? Was he... jealous? Molly? No! Now it’s not the time._  Looking at his opponent, Sherlock see that the man was now looking dapper, with a bespoke suit instead of the casual urban look he had that time.   
  
“Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket ...” At Moriarty's words, the detective puts his hand in his fitted trouser pocket to gets John’s gun. “... or are you just pleased to see me?”

The sexual innuendo wasn’t lost on John who rolls his eyes in frustration as his friend replies, “Both.” His patience was running thin as he has a front row seat as the consultant detective and consultant criminal finally dance. He was still afraid for Sherlock's safety and for his - to a lesser degree - but it was so frustrating!  _I’m the one who is supposed to exchange cheeky banter with him, not that degenerate! Oh God, what are they saying now?_

“Yeah, okay, I did.” Jim sing-song in a high-pitched voice. “But the flirting’s over, Sherlock ... Daddy’s had enough now!”  _About bloody time_ , John thought before is level of anxiety rise as the mad man get closer to the detective. “So, take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off.”

Scandalized at the matter-of-fact tone the criminal was using, Sherlock states more calmly than he felt. “People have died.”

“That’s what people DO!” Moriarty screams the last word, instantly betraying his insanity.

Still somehow holding himself steady, the detective replies in a firm tone. “I will stop you.”  
  
Back to his bubbly persona, Jim smirks with confidence. “No, you won’t.” Sherlock's gaze falls on John for a second, “You all right?” 

With a little chuckle, Moriarty walks back to the doctor and says sarcastically, “You can talk, Johnny-boy. Go ahead.” The ex-soldier reacts instantly at the opportunity and slams himself on Moriarty, strapping them both at the bomb vest. 

“Sherlock, run!”  _Go… Save yourself!_  “If your sniper pulls that trigger, Moriarty, then we both go up.” But at his astonishment, the criminal only laughs…

Jim remains composed, a tight pensive smile on his lips. “Isn’t he sweet? I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets… Or is it more? Hum… Let me see.” He watches Sherlock intently then John before he shakes his head. “Poooooor doctor, this is weird…” As John grips him closer, Moriarty murmurs for John’s hear only “I will kill him… Only him…. if you do not let me go.” Not wanting to give in to the obvious blackmail, the doctor didn’t move. “They’re so touchingly loyal. Maybe I could get one. But, oops!” He points at Sherlock who was now full of red little dot marks as John heart skips a beat. “You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson.” He chuckles softly as John lets him go.

Signalling to his sniper to remain focused on both men, he distances himself from the angry doctor with a smirk. Looking at Sherlock's impeccable bespoke suit, he frowns as he brushes his hand on his own, indignant about the wrinkles John causef. “Westwood!” Regaining his composure, he rises his head towards the detective. “Do you know what happens to you if you don’t leave me alone, Sherlock?”

Acting as bored as he could summon, he replies, “Oh, let me guess: I get killed.”

“Kill you?” Moriarty made a ‘don’t be so ordinary face’ “No, no, don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m going to kill you anyway someday. I don’t want to rush it, though. I’m saving it up for something special. No-no-no-no-no. If you don’t stop prying, I’ll burn you.” He looks into Sherlock’s eyes, finding what he wanted, and repeats viciously, “I’ll BURN the HEART out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

“But we both know that’s not quite true.” At Sherlock's confusion, Moriarty smiles conspiratorially at John. “Well, I’d better be off. Well, so nice to have had a proper chat. Ciao, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Catch ... you ... later.”

Right before the door closes behind him, Moriarty sing-song an irritating, “No, you won’t!”

 

As the door closes Sherlock remains still for a few second, his gun still high. Snapping out of it he drops in front of John. “All right?... Are you all right?” 

John head falls in relief “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine.”  _Sherlock his fine… Everything is ok, calm down_. As Sherlock rushes to remove the vest, the doctor repeats “I’m fine.” The detective was still tugging on the vest with vehemence until it finally opens up. Finally away from the bomb, John's legs give up and he nearly falls to the cement floor. Pulling the earpiece from his hear, he was still shaking but softly lays a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Sherlock! Are you okay…”  

Not trusting the feelings that were rushing through him, Sherlock walks a bit away from John “Me? Yeah… I’m fine, I’m fine. Fine.” Looking at John, completely bemused he stutters, “That, er ... thing that you, er, that you did – that... you offered to do. That was, um ... good.”

_Oh God… I will do so much more if you only let me in…_ Trying to calm Sherlock he jokes “I’m glad no-one saw that, you ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.” 

With a little smile, Sherlock shrugs. “People do little else…” His pulse was finally back to its normal rhythm when he turns to look at a chuckling John…  _He’s magnificent, courageous… how come I never realized that he was so vibrant, sexy…_  His pulse starts to rise again but for another reason.  _Stop this right now, he’s already spoken for and the friendship is more important than few nights of dalliance._  He was fighting the will to jump on John to kiss him when the door opens again.  

“Sorry, boys! I’m soooooo changeable!”  John grimaces as Moriarty returns. “It is a weakness with me but, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.” He debonairly puts his hands in his pockets. “You can’t be allowed to continue. You just can’t. I would try to convince you but ... everything I have to say has already crossed your mind!”

Not seeing the look that Sherlock and John exchange, it only last a second but it encapsulates everything that they are at that point. _The two of them against the world_. One second to silently accept a death pact.  Turning his face to Moriarty, Sherlock calmly says, “Probably my answer has crossed yours.” And lowers the pistol to aim at the vest.  The criminal mastermind was for once at a loss for words and looks a little bit anxious at John and Sherlock's satisfaction. The tension was palpable as the snipers were back on both men as the detective was threatening to detonate the bomb. 

Then suddenly, Moriarty phone rings. “Do you mind if I get that?”

Sherlock, back to his natural smoothness, nods. “No, no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.”

“Hello? ... Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” The criminal replies before screaming “SAY THAT AGAIN! Say that again, and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you.” Walking back to Sherlock he says melancholically “Sorry. Wrong day to die.”

“Oh. Did you get a better offer?”

“You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock…" He puts the phone to his ear. "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.”

As he disappears once again thru the door, John questions softly. “What happened there?”

Looking at his dishevelled friend with a newly found interest, Sherlock murmurs, “Someone changed his mind. The question is: who?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think that "You’ve rather shown your hand there, Doctor Watson." is a real quote from the episode... How is it possible for some people to deny the johnlock subtext in the series lol


	10. Turmoil & oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months have passed since the pool...

After what the events at the pool, Sherlock wasn’t able to remove the _idea_ of John in his mind. How courageous he has been, how prone to self-sacrifice himself…  _All this only… for me? Never… I’ve never thought that someone will one day befriend me enough to…_ He pauses his playing, shaking his head at his silliness. _No, who am I fooling, he did it that first night, when he killed the cabbie. We only met the day before so it couldn’t have done it because he was my friend. It’s… it’s probably only the soldier's courage in face of danger, the doctor's oath to protect life. He’s an extraordinary human being, that’s all. But he was so beautiful in the shining light coming from the pool…_ He sighs, violin still in his hands.

“Sherlock, are you all right?” John probes, seeing that his friend had ceased his playing. “I liked that last bit, not as gloomy as the other ones you play nowadays” He adds, chuckling. 

With a smile, Sherlock chases away his thoughts and puts his precious instrument under his chin and starts to play again as John turns back to his computer, probably writing an _editorialised_ version of their last case. _Mycroft would probably want to check it over, with the connection to the Royals, Adler and that decoyed plane…_ As he continues playing, the image of John’s uneasiness when Adler appeared naked springs in his head. _This was weird… he clearly loves women, he’s been with one for years, even if he never brings anyone at the flat, he's a flirtatious man.  He should have enjoyed the free show! Was it because he didn’t want to be unfaithful to his soulmate? God, all this is killing me…_ The scene that took place a few moment later, when the American threatened to shoot John didn’t help to calm his turmoil. _A gun, on John’s head! How could they dare to do that! But, it was surprisingly effective to focus my mind on the little problem in hand._ His heart crushes briefly suddenly as he relives how near he had been to losing his... friend.

At his desk, John suddenly lifts his head in concern as his heart hurts without reason, but it lasts only for a mere second so he goes back to his writing _.  Oh God I need a coffee…_ “Sherlock, I’m going down to get a coffee, want one?” As the detective remains silent, concentrating on his partition but with a vacant look on his face, John runs down the steps quickly… to be accosted by Mycroft Holmes.  “Mycroft? What are you doing here? Sherlock is at home if you want to talk to him?”   

“Thank you, John, but I do prefer to talk to you regarding this matter.” He motions a hand towards Speedy. “Care to join me for few minutes?”

 

Once they were in the café, Mycroft places a plastic folder on the table. “Restricted access – confidential." John mutters to himself. Irene Adler's phone was clearly visible so John asks, “This is the file on Irene Adler?” 

“Yes, closed forever… I was about to go and inform my brother – or, if you prefer, you are – that she somehow got herself into a witness protection scheme in America. She will survive but he will never see her again.”

With a hint of jealousy, John retorts,“why would he care? He despised her at the end.”

“Yes, but she was one of kind; the one woman who matters.” Mycroft knows that It was cruel to play with the good doctor like that, but he needs to know if John was still trying to get his brother attention or if he’s now dismissing the idea completely, understanding that Sherlock wasn’t ‘wired’ like that. _Or maybe he is… Since that pool business I do not recognize him sometimes!_ The politician frowns at the idea.

Flustered at the idea of his soulmate longing for that woman, John protests. _“_ He’s not like that. He doesn’t feel things that way ... I don’t think… He… No, not him.” He pauses, trying to compose himself. “He’ll be okay with this witness protection, never seeing her again. He’ll be fine.”  

“Perhaps, Dr. Watson, but the truth is…”

 

John closes the door of the flat as quietly as possible. His friend was at the kitchen table working on an experiment. As he was trying to come up with a way to talk to him about Irene his stomach summersaults when the detective speaks.

“Clearly you’ve got news.” He looks at John and the wallet in his hand. “If it’s about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener. Nobody noticed the earring.”

Walking near the table, John hesitates “No, it’s, um ... it’s about Irene Adler.”

Unreadable, the detective asks, “Oh? Something happened? Has she come back?”

“No, she’s… I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs. He had to take a call.” He sighs then went for it. “She’s in America! Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. So, well, you know…”

“I know what?” The tall man turns in his chair in the direction of the doctor.

“Well, you won’t be able to see her again.”

“Why would I want to see her again?” The detective was looking at John, clueless. _I don’t want to see her ever again, she knows me too well… It’s dangerous._

With an embarrassed tone, John objects. “Didn’t say you did.” Clearing his throat, he walks slowly to the door. “Well, I’d better take this back.” Before leaving the flat, he turns to gaze at his silent friend. “Did she ever text you again, after... all that?”

“Once, a few months ago…” To John's dismay, a flutter of a smile appears on Sherlock’s lips. _As if he was remembering something... nice._

“What did she say?” 

The smile suddenly becomes sad. “Goodbye, Mr Holmes.” 

Uncomfortable with the sadness that falls on his friend face, the doctor was only able to mutters “Oh…” and left quickly return the file to Mycroft.

As soon as he was alone, Sherlock took his phone to look at his messages. He smiles, as he scrolls through the texts that The Woman had sent him…    

> I’m not hungry, let’s have dinner. 
> 
> Bored in a hotel. Join me. Let’s have dinner. Bring John, you shine even more when he’s around.
> 
> John’s blog is HILARIOUS. He definitively likes you more than I do. Let’s have dinner. 
> 
> I can see tower bridge and the moon from my room. Work out where I am and join me. 
> 
> I saw you in the street today. You didn’t see me, too absorbe with a discussion with your doctor. 
> 
> You do know that hat actually suits you, don’t you? 
> 
> Oh for God’s sake, go on a real date with him. 
> 
> I’m Team John with that: I like your funny hat. 
> 
> I’m in Egypt talking to an idiot. Get on a plane, let’s have dinner. 
> 
> You looked sexy on Crimewatch. The journalist is really flirty! Your doctor jealous eyes are really entertaining. 
> 
> Even you have got to eat. Let’s have dinner. 
> 
> BBC1 right now. You’ll laugh. 
> 
> I’m thinking of sending you a Christmas present.
> 
> Mistletoe all over the flat, kiss him! It won’t hurt... if you don’t want it to do ;-)
> 
> Mantelpiece. 
> 
> I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner. 
> 
> _Happy New Year. SH._
> 
> For the love of God, DO something about your doctor, it’s sickening. If you don’t I will contact him myself!
> 
> _I don’t know what you are talking about. SH._
> 
> Yes, you know… 
> 
> _He’s got a soulmate somewhere, I shouldn’t interfere. SH._
> 
> _I am not important. SH._
> 
> You idiot! Take his pulse…
> 
> _Desire, that’s all. SH_
> 
> _I don’t want to talk about it with you. Anyway, I can't afford your professional services. SH._
> 
> Goodbye Mr Holmes 

With determination, Sherlock erases the whole conversation. _No needs to risk that John would ever read all that... rubbish._

 

After a _caseless_ week or so, where Sherlock was slowly driving John crazy, the next month was full of adventures with a thrilling case out of London that would later be known as ‘The Hounds of Baskerville’. Once back at home, away from the poisonous fumes and the unnecessary drama Sherlock brought on them all by his attitude, John storms into his bedroom to relax and pondering the events while the detective remains in the living room to sulk at was he considers ‘John’s over-rigorousness’…

 _If he does not understand that I had to put the sugar in his coffee to check if it was poison, I don’t know what to say!_ He was walking back and forth in the living, playing with his harpoon. _Ok, it may have been inconsiderate… a little.  NO! He’s a soldier after all, he's seen worse!_ After a few seconds, he reconsiders.  _Well, it’s true that as he was a soldier, that he’s seen battle… Maybe PTSD  could have triggered an… overreaction? Anyway, I don’t understand why he’s so angry by that case! It wasn’t all bad, was it?_ A smug smile chases is anxious look as he remembers John's authoritative voice when they arrived at Baskerville. _Damn, he was sexy as hell. I wish I could see him in his uniform one day… And when I think that I voluntarily asked him to flirt with that woman._  

Suddenly, a a strong curse resonates upstairs, followed by a loud crash. Worried, Sherlock opens the door of the flat and rushes up the stairs but before he puts his hand on the handle of John’s bedroom, a furious voice yells. “I’M FINE! Something fell that’s all… LEAVE ME ALONE!” Hurt by John pushing him away, Sherlock grabs his coat and scarf and leaves the flat, closing the door with a sharp bang.

 

John has been fuming since they left Baskerville. In fact, if he was honest, he’s been mad at Sherlock for the last few days. When they finally return to Baker Street, he retreats to his room, needing to chill out, or sulk alone for few hours before being able to talk to Sherlock without yelling at him. _The bastard! Using me as a test subject! The sugar, then the false super-dog in the lab! We’re supposed to be friends!_ He chuckles derisively. _No, we're supposed to be bloody SOULMATES! I was panicking and he didn’t feel a thing! He was so concerned with his little plan… If only he had felt half of what I felt when he reacted to the poison at the hotel and he became paranoiac._ John had to use all his self-control to be able to help Sherlock as he was feeling some of the fear, the uncertainty that Sherlock was experiencing. _It was horrible…_

He sits on his bed and picked up his phone. His mom answers quickly. “John! How are you?”

“I’m ok… fine… Just… Just… I don’t think I can do this anymore. I think it would be better if I forget that I know that he’s my soulmate, there must be a way to block all this … No?” His voice was shaky, the emotion of coming to that conclusion draining him of all energy.

“Son, don’t say that!” She chides him softly, “What happened?”

“It’s just that in our last case, he did things to me that… He shouldn’t have. And… And… He was drugged and I felt everything. I was trying to help him, but I felt everything and was nearly paralyzed by fear myself!” The sound of his mum making tea at the end of the line was soothing. _Mum and her tea…_

“You know, I’ve got the impression that when he’s feeling vulnerable, when his guard is down… The connection is stronger. Don’t you think?” She asks the question, knowing that she was right.

“Maybe. But you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you think it would be better to simply forget that part of my life? I could start anew, maybe find someone…” John voice was so full of sadness that his mother eyes were slowly filling with tears.

“John! No… I know this is not what you want to hear, but it’s worth fighting for!” John was passing his hand through his hair, not knowing what to think anymore. “Sherlock is a special man, as you are. Destiny decided to join you together, you can't push that away… This is a precious gift.”

“Utter twat, precious, my ass, right.” John mutters. At his mother chocked expression, he quickly adds “Sorry, Mum… sorry…” He pauses, looking for his words. “You know, we shared a room… The Inn’s staff was thinking that we were a couple… It was so nice in a way but so hard in another.”

“Did you… sleep well?” John’s mother inquires with a smirk in her voice. 

“MUM! Don’t say things like that… We didn’t sleep that much, in fact we rarely spent time together in the room.” A flash of Sherlock when he was drugged by Adler flicks in his head. He murmurs, talking more to himself then to his mother. “I’ve seen him asleep a few times, you know, he often passed out in the sofa after a case! But in a bed, his head on a pillow, he looks so innocent, so young… He’s magnificent, a Raphaelite, a marble statue…A few month ago, I had to deal with him while he was completely stoned because a criminal shot him with a soporific. He was still an ass, but when he finally fell asleep, he was all mine… I took care of him, put him in his pyjama… And... I’m ashamed… I shouldn’t have but…”. He stops, the embarrassment nearly unbearable.

“John, my boy, what did you do!” Mrs. Watson was clearly alarmed.

“It’s so pathetic… I placed myself as close as possible, fully clothed of course, and put him in my arms and watched him for an hour or so.” John voice breaks as he recalls the perfect moment. “Am I a bad person because I stole an hour of happiness?”

“No, John, no…” Her voice was comforting “But you know son, that you couldn’t just push these sentiments away. They are too strong…”

 “What should I do?” The doctor's voice was laced by tears.

“You must talk to him! I know that I’m repeating myself… But this is the only solution!”

“I CAN’T RISK LOSING EVERYTHING!”

“You’re always saying that love, but aren’t you afraid that if you wait too long, you’ll have nothing left to lose?” 

Stunned, he mumbles in a trembling voice “Mum, I’ve got to go…” and hangs up on his mother. Unable to control him self, he swears loudly at the bloody situation. Picking up the glass on his bed-side table, he throws it against the wall where the crash resonated loudly in the small room. _Shit. Now Sherlock will surely come upstairs. “I’M FINE! Something fell that’s all… LEAVE ME ALONE!”_

 

As usual, few weeks later, everything settles down once again, when John finally decided to do as if nothing was amiss… But, curiously, Sherlock was suddenly more polite, more respectful. As if he was trying to say ‘excuse me for all the shit I’ve done’ without actually saying the words!

Anyway they were so busy that it was nearly impossible to find the time for a serious discussion.

Sherlock was in great demand, in the middle of what John can only called a ‘media frenzy’. The blogs were having an unheard number of viewers, the detective was doing high profile cases and was drowning in gifts, checks and photos in the press. The exposure was driving John crazy... _He's going to pay for that one day..._  

And just like that, one morning, everything starts to go astray… 

Moriarty, in only one hour, found a way to break into the Tower of London, opening the vault at the Bank of England, and all the cells at a high-security prison. All this apparently with his phone… He accused Sherlock to have invented his identity as a Criminal Mastermind... That he was a fraud, that most of the cases weren't real. Then, he found a way to have Sherlock falsely accused of having kidnapped two children and force them to runaway until they prove that Moriarty is the real responsible…  In few days, everything they have stand for, all their allies, disappear. As the fake identify Moriarty created was indestructible, they can only run. 

After 48 hours of playing with the police, Sherlock left John to go at Bart’s under a false pretense that John accepted without complaint as he was planning to have a little discussion with Sherlock's brother... He wasn't aware that Sherlock needs Molly to start the escape plan they had created with the help of his brother.  Once everything was settled, Sherlock texted Moriarty an invitation... And waits.  Half an hour later, John barges into the lab, still shaken by his discussion with Mycroft. _Thinking that all this mess is because of Mycroft!_ He kept his meeting with the older Holmes for himself, not wanting to trouble Sherlock. “Have you found something?”

“No… Not really. I have nothing…” 

John sits on a chair and wait with Sherlock. Time went by slowly… and an hour later John was nearly asleep, his head resting on his arms, when his phone rings. 

“Yeah…  Speaking.” He rises from his chair quickly. “WHAT! What happened, is she okay?” Pacing in the lab as he listens, he concludes “Oh my God. Right, yes, I’m coming.”  

“What is it?” Sherlock asks, remotely interested.

“Paramedics! Mrs. Hudson, she’s been shot.”

“What? How?” The detective was still annoyingly playing with a rubber ball instead of focussing on what John was saying.

Not realizing Sherlock's lack of attention, John anxiously grumbles, “Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract ... Jesus. Jesus. She’s dying, Sherlock. Let’s go.” Then he rushes to the door.

“You go. I’m busy.” Sherlock's disinterested tone shreds the doctor heart into pieces.

“Busy?” He asks incredulously.

Still sitting on the floor, where he was when John arrived, Sherlock murmurs, “Thinking. I need to think.”

“You need to ...? Doesn’t she mean anything to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her _.” I’m going to kill him, right now! How could I be linked to that man!_

Rising his shoulder, Sherlock shrugs “She’s my landlady.” It was nothing to calm John! 

“She’s dying ... You… You machine! Sod this. Sod this.” He walks towards the door. “You stay here if you want, on your own.”

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.”

He utters a fierce, “NO. Friends protect people." Then leaves for Baker Street.

Sherlock expels the sigh he wasn’t aware that he was holding when his phone chimes.  

> I’m waiting... 

 

Thirty minutes later, on Bart’s roof with Moriarty dead at his feet… A stunned Sherlock comes to the realisation that he must _really_ jump. Jump into the oblivion for who knows how many months, years. He should have known that Moriarty would have had a fail-safe, a way to win whatever the outcome of the meeting. Of all the scenarios he came up with Mycroft it was one of the obvious possibilities and everything was already organized for it. 

_I knew it._

_I shouldn’t be surprised._

_I shouldn’t be devastated at the thought._

_It’s not that high, there is little risk at all…_

His heart stop for a moment. _I must do it for Greg, Mrs. Hudson and… John._ The mere thought that something may happen to the doctor was bringing him to tears. _What the Hell! Stay calm you idiot!_ With a shaking hand, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials John’s number. 

_The show begins… _

“Hello?” John replies with urgency. “Sherlock, you okay? Why did you send me to Baker Street for nothing! I know it was you! What are you doing!”

With a calm tone that was unable to completely hide his turmoil, Sherlock asks “Turn around and walk back the way you came now.”

“No, I’m coming in. Are you still in the lab?” _What are you doing you crazy bastard!_

Panicking at the idea of John seeing the structure that was puts in place for him, Sherlock pleads. “Just do as I ask. Please. Stop and walk back.”

“Where? Sherlock?”

“Okay, look up. I’m on the rooftop.” 

John heart summersaults when he realizes that his soulmate was on the ledge of the building, but wasn’t able to view what was going on behind the ambulances garage.. _No. No. It can be real!_   “Oh, God.”

“I ... I ... I can’t come down, so we’ll ... we’ll just have to do it like this.” Without having to act, Sherlock's voice was laced with tears. _How convenient._

“Sherlock, this is crazy! What’s going on?” _Don’t jump. Don’t jump. Don’t jump. Where is bloody Mycroft when we need him!_

“An apology. It’s all true. Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty.” _You have to believe it John. Hate me a little… It’s going to be easier…_ An uncustomary rush of despair causes his body to shudder as he implores silently. _Please do that for me…_

“Why are you saying this!”

 _Of course, my John won’t buy that! Oh God, where did that come from… He is not MY anything!_ His voice finally breaks when he adds, “I’m a fake...” After a few exchanges where John made it clear that he was not going to buy his story, Sherlock simply said, “Goodbye, John...” and let his phone drop. As John runs towards the buildings screaming his name, something burst inside the detective. _John… Must save John…_ And he jumps as the plan was running in his head. 

_0:00 Jump._

_0:05 I hit the cushion _

_0:07 I get out while they deflate it _

_0:08 _

_0:09 _

But as he was jumping off the inflated cushion that was waiting for him, his head suddenly hurts as if someone as knocked him over the head with a pipe. He was feeling dizzy. _What’s that? Did I hurt myself?_  

 _0:10_

Then suddenly he understands.

_0:10_

He understands everything.  

_0:10 John is hit by a bike…_

_No… no… no… it cannot be… it cannot…_ As one of the team was putting blood on his face and placing him on the sidewalk. His eyes close, memories rush in his mind, scales finally fallings from his eyes, from around his heart _… It cannot be… John… Oh God… How can it be possible? But I am not a gifted... It's impossible._ The doctor's physical pain as he was hit by the bike was flooding his own sentiment, his confusion replaced by hurt then after a few minutes by horror and distress. It was becoming difficult to fake stillness, especially now that John was near him, crying, sinking by his side. 

Sherlock was screaming in his head, trying to push John’s sentiments away. _How is it possible… I can’t be his soulmate… I am no one… no one… John… John…_   

“Jesus, no… God… Sherlock.” John was sobbing, muttering. “That’s not right… that’s not right… Something is wrong… No…” Onlookers, members of the detective's network, support him as Bart’s staff came to take the body. John was staring at the scene, not understanding, not realizing…

“Poor man,” A woman said, trying to comfort him. “He’s in a better place now, poor soul…”

That’s when John grasps what was wrong. 

_I should at least have been unconscious because how terribly it must have hurt the second before… before he died._

_I didn’t feel it!_

_I DIDN’T FEEL IT!_

He was trying to run where they went with his soulmate body when a needle suddenly pierces his neck.  He falls among the bystanders’ tragedy always attracts, thinking _Thank God, he’s alive!_ before he drops into oblivion _._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved the part when John talks to his mother. Poor man, his so far gone! Maybe he should talk to Greg, I don't know. What do you think?
> 
> Got the feeling that someone will not be please with Mycroft in the next chapter... Talking of Mycroft, do you want me to explore his relation or more precisely absence of relation with his soulmate also??


	11. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock concluded two things: By an unknown miracle, John is his soulmate and that Mycroft, his own brother, lied to him.

Sherlock was in an anonymous car, nearly hyperventilating. _I need to calm myself!_ The last thirty minutes were spinning in his head. Everything out of focus, not quite real. The weight of John’s hand on his, while he was searching for a pulse, the manhandling up to the stretcher by the fake nurses and doctor… The dash to the basement of Bart’s where Molly quickly wiped the blood of his face and took his soiled coat to put it in the incinerator… The race to the car where Mycroft was waiting. 

All this without any clue on how John was coping with everything when knowing how he’s doing is at the top of his priority list right now. Second after making sure he will stay alive.

_ That’s weird how fast he took all the place that was available inside me… How he pushed anything away that wasn’t important… _ After the pain he felt when John was hit by the bike and the despair that follows when the doctor kneels at his side desperate for any sign of life, he has been suddenly submerged by an unexpected impression of exhilaration, of joy. The blissfulness taking all the room that was left in his mind, beside the space required to follow the plan.  _I know it’s not me. It cannot just be my own sentiment! I was many things at that moment but certainly not… happy._

Then suddenly, nothing. He was once more all alone.  _As if John descend into nothingness..._

Even with the evidence in front of him, Sherlock was still doubting the ineluctable. _How is it possible, I can’t be his soulmate! I tested negative… I know that as our parents are soulmates, the odds that Mycroft or I are gifted were higher but… I was negative! I didn’t react when John touched me. I… I… I was negative like Mycroft! How could I…_ He suddenly recalls how troubled he was when he got the result, how he pushed Victor away, knowing that it wasn't right! How he tried to fill the void inside him with drugs and works. How much peaceful he has been since John appeared in his life... His gaze following the edge of the road in a tentative attempt to calm his confusion, he suddenly gives up the pretense, lifts his head with determination and murmurs. “This is the only possibility.”

“Are you all right, brother mine?” Mycroft was looking at Sherlock with eyes full of concern. He pulls a thermos of tea from a bag and opens it before moving closer. “Drink some tea, Sherlock, it’s going to help you to stay calm…”

Pushing the government man away, not violently but resolutely, he slowly recites his favourite maxim. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." 

_ What’s going on!  _ Frowning, Mycroft watches the detective closely, before asking with an equal voice. “What are you talking about, ‘Lock’?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” He was furious… Realizing that all his life since his 18th birthday has been a lie! _Some bloody lies!_ “You lost the right to call me that the day you decided to ruin my life!” His love for John and affection for Greg and Mrs. Hudson were the only things that forced him to remain in the car.  The fear of being seen by one of Moriarty's minions was worse than the disgust that Mycroft was causing him. _A close call, nearly a draw, but in his soul his need to protect his family won out._ He closes his eyes, trying to communicate with John. _How does it work? Usually couples are practicing in the first few months, until they found the best way for them. I am new at all this, at a moment were John needs me the most._ He yearned for the doctor for months, but this is not the same!  He clears his head, relaxes, tries to ignore his brother… Nevertheless, he didn’t feel John at all. His frustration was rising, thinking about all the time where John had looked at him knowingly, as if waiting for something… For a sign.  _He had known since our first meeting… Oh God, poor man._ Tears were pooling in his eyes at the thought of John’s torment. _What’s happening, love? I must go away for a while… I want to know that you are all right. Give me a sign… Something..._

Unaware of what’s going on, as he was being accuse of ‘ruining his life’ quite frequently by his brother, Mycroft softly asks, “Sherlock?” 

“For God sakes, Mycroft, shut the fuck up!”

Shocked by his younger brother's language, the older man stays silent until they reach their destination. 

   

Half an hour later, as they arrive at a private airfield in a London suburb, Sherlock swiftly lefts the car without saying a word. Opening the trunk, he reaches for the small duffle bag that contains a few items of clothing, his new papers, a few arms, his whole life for the next months, year… Turning to his brother, he asks, “You’ve got his file with you?”

“His file?” Putting an emphasize on the ‘his’.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” As Mycroft nods, Sherlock requests coldly. “Give me a picture of him.”

The older man tries to touch his brother’s shoulder but he withdraws a few steps away. “Sherlock… Don’t…”

Not looking at Mycroft, the detective simply repeats “A picture. Now.”

Knowing that his brother was not going to change his mind, that he probably realizes now the importance of John Watson - a miscalculation on his part - he walks back quickly to the car and retrieves a small picture of the doctor. Extending his hand in the hope that Sherlock would accept to touch him - not hugging  - he’s not delusional, but at least shaking hands – Mycroft gives the picture to his little brother. 

Looking at the image with sad eyes, Sherlock slowly places it in his breast pocket. It was a blurry image of John on a crime scene, probably taken by a surveillance camera. The doctor was smiling softly, adoringly, at something out of the picture.    

Wanting to close the gap between them a little, Mycroft murmurs. “He was looking at you, only you, when that picture was taken.” His voice broke as he adds. “Sherlock, brother’s mine, talk to me… Please.”  

Staring at his brother’s eyes for the first time, he clearly states. “If you need to transmit information about Moriarty, documents or were to find my next target, ask Anthea.” Placing the duffle bag on his shoulder, his voice turns even colder. “Take care of him and maybe I’ll talk to you again.”

Turning away, he starts walking in direction of the small jet that was waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small one, I know...


	12. Remorse & doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is starting to feel something that is new to him when Greg is trying to convince himself that it couldn't be real!

 

Mycroft's eyes followed his brother as he walks towards an unknown fate.  Everything was planned, but an in adventure such as this, everything could and will happen!  _Be careful Sherlock, come back to me so I can redeem myself…_

He remains on the tarmac, unmoving. Not knowing what to do next as guilt was fighting against the idea that he has done what was right for his little brother!  _This is the perfect example, that he couldn’t deal with all those sentiments!_ He argues, trying to push away a nagging feeling of remorse.  _Doctor Watson is a good man, but he could have been paired with a… moron._ The image of a crying John, holding Sherlock's hand as he tries to get nearer… The sound of his voice, the despair… And then the troubled eyes, the hope, the joy, when he finally understands that Sherlock couldn’t have died!He was aware of the possibility, which was why one of his men was near with a sedative.  _It worked beautifully, no one asked question as John was transported inside the hospital. What’s more normal than to faint when your best friend commit suicide in front of you?_

He closes his eyes a minute, trying to order his thoughts.  _John, what to do with John now?_ Sherlock's cold, unemotional voice was resonating inside his head.  _Take care of him and maybe I’ll talk to you again._ Mycroft had been dealing with John for nearly two years, and the years he had been tracking him before they had even met… He knows that the problem wouldn’t be that John would fall into a pit of despair and alcohol.  _I will probably need to shackle him if I don’t want him to go after Sherlock and risk both their lives stupidly! What a pair… If only Sherlock's soulmate could have been a sensible philosophy teacher! What was the saying? Yes... That for a gifted, one's soulmate is what one needed in his life to be whole. Two halves of the same soul…_ He sniggers sadly as the vision of his soulmate flashes in his mind.  _All this is stupid, as if I require someone to be complete._

His phone brings him out of his reverie, it was DI Lestrade's umpteenth attempt to reach him.  _Not right now, please… please… I can’t deal with him right now._ He lets the phone ring without answering, again. A few minutes later, it was a text.

> I need to talk to you, about your brother. Call me. It’s urgent. Please. GL

A second later, another text, from Anthea that time.

> Sir, the detective is really insistent. God knows how he found your number! Do you want me to handle him? A

He sighs as if the whole country was his own private burden, which is true in many ways… He quickly replies to Anthea that he will take care of him shortly.  _I must talk to her about how Sherlock don't want me as an handler, sooner than later..._

Still standing at the same spot since the plane took off, he was rehearsing what he has to say to Lestrade. How he must react to his accusations, sadness, questions, doubts or guilt…  _The inspector has always been a surprising man, including his constant yet unanticipated fondness for my brother, I don’t know if it’s better to talk to him by phone or in person._ As the thought of the beautiful silver-haired man suddenly brought him warmth and comfort in this madness, he decides that by phone was definitely better.

“Ready to go sir?” His chauffeur asks softly.

“Yes. take me home, please.”  _I’ll call him from my place._

   

_ One hour or so ago _

Greg was in his office working on some paperwork – Sherlock's disappearance and the reviewing of all the cases that he was involved with was time consuming to say the least – when a buzz spreads through his division.  He was catching only a few words, but as the one he gets were 'freak' and 'Bart’s', he knows instantly that his crew was talking about Sherlock Holmes. He rises quickly and opens his office door before calling “Donovan, get in here!” As the woman walks with a light smile on his lips, bile rises in Greg throat. “What’s going on…”

Nearly laughing, Sally explains what was the fuss. “It’s the Freak, sir, he’s on the roof of Bart’s hospital, serenading John Watson.” She pauses, stepping  away from her boss a bit as Greg eyes turn murderous. “Police cars are on their way, to find out what’s going on and arrest him.”  But her boss wasn’t paying attention anymore, he was rushing out to the elevator. 

He has never driven to Bart’s so quickly, as he arrives many policemen were securing the perimeter. _Whatever he has done, it cannot end like this!_ He looked up at the roof, trying to see someone, an official, Sherlock… just someone! And he saw nothing.  _Nothing. Nobody. No one his arresting nobody. And Sherlock is no longer at the edge of the building… So why all this security, all this people… No… No…_ As the inescapable was sinking in, he starts to run in direction of the sidewalk. It was too late, Sherlock was already leaving on a stretcher and John… _poor John_ … was still kneeling on the ground near his best friend 's blood.  _I need to reach John, God, at least let me help him!_ He was trying to reach the doctor but it was hard to move nearer with all the people surrounding the scene! Greg didn’t believe it as he saw John quickly rises with a strange look on his face - hope? relief? – as the doctor starts to walk decidedly in the direction of the parking garage door where the paramedics took Sherlock a moment ago. Then, in a blink of an eyes, John disappears! 

Knowing that something fishy was probably going on, Greg tries to contact Mycroft Holmes for the first time. 

Once the crowd vanished, he was finally able to go inside Bart’s, only to find that the morgue has been closed down and Molly nowhere to be seen. Neither his badge, or the authority in his voice would move the men in front of the door.  So he waits. And tries to talk to Mycroft and John.  And waits again… And tries to talk to Mycroft and John. Again.

He called at his posh club, at his office – Sherlock had given him the number to annoy his brother a few months ago – but to no avail. The 'minor-position-in-the-government-my-ass-bastard' wasn’t answering.  _He must be aware, he must know what’s going on… And if everything is sadly real, the man just lost his little brother._

The idea that maybe those closed doors were protecting a crying Mycroft was oddly intolerable.    

 

Fifteen minutes later, as he closes his phone after trying to reach Holmes or John again, the detective aggressively let go a “That’s enough! I’m from the Met, I have the right to access the morgue!” He was shaking, feeling guilty as he was screaming at the guards in front of the door, but everything was so wrong! That feeling of wrongness was the only thing that held him together! “For God sakes, get out of the way!” As he saw a crushed Molly getting out of a ‘staff only’ door, he turns quickly to walk towards her. “I need to see him” His voice breaks“… please. I need to know that… that it’s not real… Please Molly…”

As the nearly crying woman starts to babble something about how the body wasn’t ready for visitors, Greg’s nerves finally shut down and he collapses into a nearby chair, his head in his hands. Sobbing as he hasn’t done since the death of his mum. That Molly confirms that it was Sherlock was the only proof he needed… The young woman, feeling horrible and not knowing what to say as she can’t tell him the only thing that will stop his tears, sits beside him and gently places a hand on his back, stroking slowly. After a few minutes, the sobs cease, and a calmer Greg pats Molly's knee before rising and striding from Bart's, as a man on a mission.

_ I need answer and I know where to find them! _

 

As his car pulls out in front of his flat, Mycroft thanks his chauffeur and walks with a tired step until he reaches his front door.  He turns on his heals as a he hears commotion behind him.  His chauffeur/bodyguard as well as the rest of his personal security team were holding Lestrade firmly on the hood of the car.

“HOLMES! I need to talk to you…”

_He’s magnificent when he’s angry. And the silver of his hair contrasted beautifully with the shiny black of the car…_ Snapping out of it quickly he orders, “Let him go.”  _It seems that a phone conversation is no longer an option. The play is starting right now. Act one: The Grieving Brother._  “Care to joins me for a drink, Inspector? I’m in need of one right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in 2 days... It's the weather, too cold to do anything outside! 
> 
> Still sad AF and full of angst. Sorry :-( It's going to be nice and fluffy at the end I promise!


	13. Fate. Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg needs to talk to Mycroft... But is Mycroft ready for it?

After opening the door for the DI, Mycroft motions him in the direction of the formal living room. It could have been easy to summon tears, the day has really been horrible and having to deal with Gregory Lestrade while his mind is in chaos doesn’t help, but the politician restrains himself knowing that it wasn’t what was expected from his cold persona. Turning in the direction of the older man, he simply says. “Have a seat, inspector, I have a few calls to make and I will be at your service for any questions you may have.” He pauses, looking deeply sad for a moment, “Except if it’s an official inquiry… if it is… I can give you my attention right now.”  

Shaking his head in the negative, Greg nearly argues that he only wants is to confirm what happened and that John was well care of, but the elegant man was already outside the room. Not knowing what to do, feeling horrible at the idea that if this nightmare is real, the man who pushed his brother to suicide is probably the last person on earth Mycroft Holmes wants to speak to tonight! As he waits, his eyes navigate the room mechanically. Memorizing the art works; the pile of cds near the expensive sound system, classical of course, but also some jazz standards and some title in foreign languages; the neatness of everything; the anonymity of the decoration.   Except for a few books that looked well-read and the cds, nothing personal. No pictures, no knick-knacks… It was cold. It was a show room. _I wonder if somewhere in this house, Mycroft Holmes has a real private room. A place with family pictures and so on… I hope so for his sake because this is a strange and solitary life._   He sighs and sits on a sofa, the hardships of the last hour finally pulling him down. 

 

As soon as he left the First floor, Mycroft texts Anthea.

> Status on Dr. Watson? MH
> 
> He’s stable, still asleep. Probably won’t wake within the next 2 hours. A
> 
> Perfect. Let me know when he starts to emerge. Everyone knows what to say? MH
> 
> Yes, Sir. A
> 
> I saw that DI Lestrade is currently at your place, do you need help with that? I can create a crisis of some sort so you won’t have to talk today. A
> 
> No, it’s ok. Better to deal with this right now. MH
> 
> I don’t want to be presumptive, Sir, but… are you ok? A
> 
> Yes, I am. Why? MH
> 
> Nothing, Sir. Let me know if you need anything else. A
> 
> Let me know when the plane lands. MH 
> 
> And, Anthea? MH
> 
> Yes? A
> 
> Could you please handle all communication with my brother? I will check everything before hand, but it’s better if I don’t talk to him directly… for the moment. MH
> 
> No problem, sir. A
> 
> Good. MH
> 
> (…)
> 
> Thank you for everything Anthea. MH
> 
> You’re not in this alone, it's going to be okay, Sir. Good night. A
> 
> Good night. MH

Closing his phone, Mycroft calls his parents quickly with a less secure land line to check that everything was okay and to let them know that he was going to go to their cottage the next day, to help with everything. _My mom could have become a great tragedian, she was spot on!_ He switches on the telly in his office to the channel news, his brother's suicide was broadcast everywhere as journalists slowly destroyed everything that was left of Sherlock. _Thank God, it’s not real, otherwise the list of persons on my ‘need to be destroyed asap’ would be overflowing at the moment._ But the overexposure was what he needs right now. For the whole world, Sherlock Holmes had died in disgrace. The CCTV at NSY has filmed the look of nearly happiness that spread on Lestrade’s squad at the news… _I think that many will find themselves  back to writing  parking tickets! Gregory Lestrade's concern and sadness was real. Probably mixed with guilt… But it’s better than most of Sherlock's so-called colleagues'  reactions._

As he thought about the DI's evident distress, he watched his reaction at the morgue, something surges in Mycroft heart. A mix of sadness, pity; the feelings bold, real, raw, overwhelming… _Oh God, what times is it? Only seven, the evening is only beginning. I shouldn’t have to take another pill for 5 hours!_ Not wanting to take any chance as the day wasn’t over till he has a discussion with Gregory Lestrade, Mycroft walks quickly to his bathroom to take another dose of his daily suppressant.  __

Not looking at his reflection in in the mirror, he took the pill that had held his heart on check over the last fifteen years.

Closing his eyes for a few minutes, he remembers the slow descent to hell of his best friend at uni. _My only friend._ The sweet girl was driving her car when they were hit by a drunk driver. She was all right, only few scratches, but her soulmate was killed on the spot. In front of her.  She fell into despair - their link was deep, fusional - she stopped talking, eating… She had finally lost it completely and killed herself without Mycroft being able to do anything to help her, to stop her. That day he decided that kind of connection wasn’t for him and certainly not for his fragile little brother.  He will _never_ let 'sentiments' direct his path or destroy Sherlock's life.  His records were already modified, he took care of it when he turned 18, as he already knew he wanted an important position in the government. His own _feelings_ shouldn’t be a problem as he gained access to the new hormone that was developed to help gifted who have lost their soulmate.  With the hormone, the link is broken and you don’t experience that acute feeling of being incomplete, of not belonging… _I wasn’t made to love anyone anyway... Perhaps if Sherlock had taken the pills… What a mess… No, it wouldn’t have changed a thing about Moriarty!_ He smirks sadly, _But I wouldn’t have to deal with Watson now…_

His own experience had shown that the suppressants were good enough that two soulmates can even touch, up to a certain point, without 'feeling' the other one. The important thing is that at least one of the two have the soulanium suppressant in his or her blood. As sometimes the link is not that deep, especially when the couple didn’t have the time to build it, the other half may never realize that his soulmate had decided to artificially cut the link between them. _John Watson would have simply been convinced that his soulmate was dead, with a little doctoring of the records of the international association that help the soulmates to find each other, without being totally devastated. Like I’ve done with… Gregory._

He remembers everything as if it was yesterday… One night, he woke up suddenly, his adrenaline level as high as if he was under attack! Understanding at once that the moment he was waiting for was finally happening, he wrote everything down precisely. The feelings, the horrible pain… His head, his back, the long period of numbness… The day after, there was the news coverage of a policeman who had been attacked while trying to stop a drug dealer in London. Everything lined up. The time, the type of injuries… His world shattered around him, the emotions too strong to be kept at bay and the plan he made rationally only a few months earlier was unexpectedly not so easy to follow… _He was so near all this time…_ _He was so beautiful, so courageous…_ He wasn’t able to stop himself from researching his life, to hack into his file at the Met. 

Even if the bond was starting to form inside him bold and strong, he went on as it was still his sincere opinion that he wasn’t made to be loved…. Now that he knew who his other half was, Mycroft simply waited for a few days until a gifted without a soulmate  had died of a natural cause and altered his files to specify that one night he felt all the symptoms he felt when Grego… _that man_ , was injured. And he started to take the hormones. Every day. For nearly fifteen years. _He’s better without me anyway, how could I inflict myself on someone so perfect. I’m not called the Iceman without good reason!_ Everything went smoothly, Greg never realized that his soulmate was still alive, he’s wasn’t suffering, or in pain… just a relentless feeling of a missed _rendez-vous_. That something _could_ have been. He even  married for few years, but it didn’t last. The fact that he met Sherlock and took him under his wing was a cruel twist of fate…

He had  manipulated Sherlock's results but has never been… daring enough to secretly give him the hormone that actually suppressed the _link_ on a long term basis like he was doing to himself. He had done it a few times, when he was in rehab it had been easy to add it to the numerous drugs his brother already had to take, but other than those few months it has been impossible to give him a daily pill without his knowledge.  And there was no way to speak to him about the idea, as he would have to admit to changing his brother's results when he turned eighteen. So he decided to let fate decide, with a little help of course, as he kept an eye on a list of the potential soulmates.   _And Sherlock and John moving in together? Another twist of fate… A bad joke really. And tonight, Gregory... in my house. What is it? Fate again? Or payback?_

More in control of his emotions now that a second dose of hormone was circulating in his blood, Mycroft straightened his suit and walked out of his bathroom to return to Lestrade. His hand on the handrail he walks down slowly, as if rocks were nestled in the pit of his stomach. _I need to be perfect. For Sherlock,_ _the show must go on. Keeping Gregory in the dark is what's going to keep him alive._

__

Lestrade was nearly asleep when Mycroft enters the living room. Needing a drink, only one to remain in control, he opens the bar and prepares two whisky soda. The noise of the ice clinking in the tumblers brought Gregory out of his musing. 

Rising quickly, he stutters, “sorry, Mycroft, it’s been a long day… And… Oh God, sorry. Yours has been worse…” _Greg, shut up right now! _

 With a small smile, Mycroft gives a glass to the inspector. “I think you could use this as well, inspector.”

“Please, call me Greg.” He took the drink. “Thanks.” He sips carefully, not knowing how to start. “I don’t know how to ask… I shouldn’t have to ask… But… With you two… I… I never know… ” He sighs profoundly, his hands slightly shaking. “Is it real?”

Mycroft, turns his head and closes his eyes before murmuring “Yes, Gregory, Sherlock is… no longer with us.” Tears, that he was unable to stop, pool in his eyes. He blinks many times to chase them but his eyes remained moist. “Sorry, I am not a good host, the last few hours have been… hard.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, I know that even if you had a strange relationship that you care… _cared_ … for your brother deeply. ” He carefully put a hand on Mycroft shoulder. “If I or anyone at the Met can…” but the younger man quickly stops Greg’s speech. 

“ _DI Lestrade_ , I know that you… liked my brother enough but I can say with certitude that if there’s something that my parents and I do not need now is the Met's sympathy.” The use of his title wasn't lost to the detective as Mycroft veneer nearly cracked. “Is that all?”

Overflowed by shame, Greg was looking for the exit, not wanting to overstay his obviously unwelcome presence. Using his surname, Mycroft was too familiar now, the detective asks “I have only one question, Mister Holmes, if I may…”

“Doctor Watson fainted when he saw the paramedics leaved with Sherlock… So I arranged for him to recover in a private hospital, far from public's curiosity. The… disgrace… and false accusations that were the reasons why my brother jumped from Bart’s roof will not stop, on the contrary.” Mycroft eyes turns dark grey with anger. “The only thing I can do now, is to make sure that John Watson is able to recover without having to deal with journalists or… others.” 

Knowing that he was time for his to go, Greg simply replies to the unveiled accusations. “I just want you to know that I arrested Sherlock because of the staggering amount of evidence that we had against him… That story of ‘Moriarty’… I wasn’t able to protect him anymore… I will continue to do everything that I can to clear his name.”

“Do so, inspector.” He leads him through the house  and opens his front door. “I’m sorry, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I must join my parents to… organize everything.”

“I’m so sorry again, believe me… And could you please tell John to call me if he needs anything?”

“I will… Good night, Inspector.”

Closing the door on Gregory, Mycroft's facade finally falls as a text from Anthea confirmed that his brother had landed in Russia.

 _Take care, brother mine... I will_ _protect_ _those close to your heart._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that this chapter will help understand Mycroft a little bit :-)


	14. The one who saw but didn’t observe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock...

Sherlock, if not for the circumstances, would have been happy for the chance to just walk away from his brother. As he was walking alone towards the small jet, his anger was slowly turning into sadness.

_I can’t believe it… More than ten years of my life… all a lie._

The guilt that showed on his brother's face when he gave him John's picture was only the first step of the payback that Sherlock was planning if he gets out of this alive.  _He stole my life… Our life… I could have been… I don’t know… better. Maybe even happy. And John… poor John._ He wasn’t able to shake the idea that his  _friend_  had known since the start. His dazed look after they shook hands in Baker Street…  _He killed someone for me in the first day of our acquaintance! Who does that! To my knowledge, he never really dated anyone, even if he’s such a flirt!_ As he buckles his seat belt, he chuckles at the image of his so charming doctor, always surrounded by irritating swooning women. _Yet he stayed with me for more than a year without summoning the courage to say anything. He was probably afraid of my reaction. God knows what Mycroft told him when they talked to each other!_

 _And to think that I rebuffed him that first night at Angelo's because I didn’t want to be a one-night stand while he was waiting for his soulmate!_ He shakes his head, flabbergasted by his own inanity. _I was so blind! How could I not realise that something was not right!_ His life was clearly separated in two. Before and after John H. Watson.  _I had been so utterly sad so often before him!_ Everything was stored in his Mind Palace, each and every one of his darkest moments, safely locked away in a room that he realizes with surprise has been nearly always closed since John! The impression of not belonging, the void he fell into when he learned that he wasn’t a gifted, that sinking feeling that no one will ever love him… He thought about his ex-boyfriend for a second time in the last hour.  _Oh my God, Victor… We were doomed because of my brother's scheme and I pushed you away in the most horrible way._ His experiments with drugs, his suicide attempt. All those times when he had been called freak, psychopath… Everything was tamed and tucked away when John stepped into his life.  _Me, who never let someone in, who never really loved… I fell quick and hard for him. I trusted him with my life. I’ve been so blind…_  He repeats to himself, slightly ashamed. _For once I am the one who saw everything but didn’t observe._

Suddenly tired, he slowly turns his head to look at his brother for one last time thru the window as the plane slowly turns on the tarmac before take-off.  A lonely silhouette, dark and immobile. The idea that he was the last person he talked to before going on his secret mission was sickening.  _How could he…_   _His deception nearly destroyed me._ Flashbacks from his suicide attempt brought an unexpected heave of nausea.  _I was so ready to just… disappear. I could have died that time!_   The idea that John may have suffered because of this period of his life, perceiving that someone was happening to him but not able to do a thing, was maddening!  _And the months in rehab, the countless therapists… Caring as he is, is it why he became a doctor? 1999. Oh God… It was that year. The year he joined the army._

His hands slightly shake as a wave of hate for his brother overwhelmed his senses once more.  _I nearly lost John to war because I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know!_ He was convinced that if he had been aware that his soulmate was waiting for him somewhere, he would have never needed drugs! It would have been the perfect puzzle: finding that special person among all the other human.  _The ultimate case._  

 _And to think that me nearly dying, my overall suffering wasn’t enough for Mycroft to find a way to undo what he’s done! It could have been so easy… faking a burst of indignation and asking a second test because his poor little brother was clearly in distress… Or simply being honest! If he had lied about something so fundamental, what else had he lied about?_ He reminisces about his many conversations with Mycroft, his affectionate tone covered by annoyance and coldness.  _Was any of it real?_   His constant will to control him, the relentless surveillance, his discussions-slash-kidnappings of Lestrade then John…  _Who is the real Mycroft Holmes? Was he only a misguided worried big brother or an emotionless control freak? Could I even trust him to keep Lestrade, Ms. Hudson and… John safe?_

Thinking about the doctor brought a sudden ping of ache, of longing, of – if he’s honest with himself for once – love.  _Where is he? I hope he’s not alone… Alone with the pain I caused him once again._ As he thought about the last moment before the short-lived link with John broke, he remembers again that feeling of joy and hope that he strangely felt after a harsh flash of despair.  _Is it possible that he realized that I wasn’t dead? I can’t explain that drastic change of attitude otherwise. He’s a doctor after all… Maybe the subterfuge wasn’t perfect? Or did he simply never felt the shut-down of my soul? I should have paid more attention when he was talking about all that stuff instead of shushing him because I thought it was rubbish._

_Better, I’ll do better, I promise. But now, I must be focussed, and swift, and… careful. John is waiting for me._

Pushing everything away for one last time, even the uneasiness at the idea that he haven’t been able to reach John again, Sherlock picked up the file of his first target, and began to read.


	15. All hearts are broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hearts are broken... or Mycroft & John: Part 1

_I’m a fake… Good bye John_ . The vision of a black coat billowing around Sherlock as he jumped starts playing in his head, the dream becoming more real with every second. _I must do something, I must help him, I must tell him that I love him! That he’s not alone!_

“SHERLOCK! Nooooooooo!” 

John wakes abruptly, not knowing where he was. _Not my bedsheets, not my mattress, not my bedroom window..._ He was sitting in a hospital bed, his throat raw from screaming, his hand shaking as he tries to catch his breath and control the pounding of his heart. _Oh God… Sherlock!_ He closes his eyes, focussing on his thoughts. _It’s just a dream, just a nightmare. He’s alive, he’s ok… Fuck, I’m going to kill that bastard but before I’m going to pin him to the wall and kiss him until his knees buckle. THEN I’m going to kill him_. 

Opening his eyes again, he looks around him for the first time. The bright white room, the tasteful decoration, the nice sheets… _Where am I? This is certainly not an NHS hospital. What happened? I was up, running towards the garage door where Sherlock disappeared, then… Nothing!_ As he was massaging his neck, he suddenly remembers the fleeting sensation of the prick of a needle. _Who could have done that… Why?_ A wave of rage brings him full awareness. _MORIARTY! Is Sherlock in any danger?_ Quickly he removes the sensors attached to his torso while he throws his legs over the side of the bed to get up when the door of the room opened. 

“Good morning, Dr. Watson.”

John turns slowly, immediately recognizing Mycroft Holmes' cold voice. The man was standing on the other side of the bed, the door now securely closed. A hand on his umbrella, a perfectly pressed bespoke suit, he was looking the part, as usual. All emotions once more buried under tweed, finely thread cotton and silk. But to someone who met the man many times, under all kind of circumstances… the cracks were beginning to show. Ready as he was to launch at the man who, without knowing the how and why, was certainly responsible for all this, he calmed himself and looks at Sherlock’s brother with more attention. _He’s tired, did not sleep well or eat over the last twenty-four hours… Is this... Fear? Sadness? What could bring sorrow to this emotionless man?_

“Are you feeling better?”

“I didn’t know I wasn’t feeling well, Mycroft.” He pauses, picking up the shirt that was on a nearby desk and decides to play dumb. “Do you know why I'm here?"

Rolling his eyes, the tall man replies, “We both know you're not a complete idiot, Doctor Watson. You certainly are already aware that you received a heavy dose of sedative.” 

“Yeah, I know.” He removes his hospital gown and puts on the shirt, too anxious and angry to be modest. _Where’s my phone?_ “What I don’t know, is why. And you, mister I-run-the-government-like-The-Godfather, you’re going to explain me why.”  

Holmes walks in front of the bed to take the only chair in the room and motions John to sit back on the bed. “You probably have a theory, you’ve been working with… my brother long enough now.” To John's dismay, Mycroft's voice catches on the last words.

“Is this part of Moriarty’s game? Is… is Sherlock ok.” As Holmes remains silent, he adds with a smirk, “don’t insult me, I know he’s alive.” A wave of panic rises when John realizes that if his soulmate may have been alive at that time, who knows what has happened since then. Not able to stay relaxed on the bed, he rushes to the rest of the clothes. “He’s still ok, right? It’s been… it’s been… How long? What time is it?” 

“Yes, yes, he's ok… I can hardly hide this from you. You been out for nearly 8 hours.” He sighs, as the idea of simply placing the doctor in a remote location with a good security team flashes through his mind once more. _But no, that’s not the solution if we want everything to work well, he must live his life as usual… With the addition of grieving for his… friend._

“You’re going to explain me everything! What was the stunt for? Why did he fake his suicide? And, more important, where he is right now?” His impatience was growing, his compassion for Mycroft's apparent distress quickly dissipating. 

Mycroft, looking at the floor with great attention, simply resume the situation. “Moriarty, of course. We tried to corner him on Bart’s roof, to let him talk and procure evidence of his existence. That Richard Brook was an invention… But he fooled us.”  

“Why Bart’s, why a fake suicide?”

“Sherlock chose Bart’s for the proximity of all that was needed to fake his death… if needed.” _And it was where he met John, sentiment… Always gets the best of us._

“Moriarty… is he… where is he?” 

“He’s dead. Truly.” Meeting Watson’s fierce gaze, Mycroft continues. “The problem was that, before he killed himself, Moriarty informed my brother that snipers were assigned to shoot Ms. Hudson, Lestrade… and you. And that if he does not commit suicide to reinforce the idea that he’s a fraud…”

“The snipers were going to kill us all.” John's voice chokes as he thought of Sherlock's distress, recalling the surreal phone call, the way he spoke to Sherlock before turning his back on him to run to Ms. Hudson's side. _He was only trying to push me away, to keep me safe._ “I want… no I NEED to see him, to talk to him. Right. Now.”

“Before I explain you everything that can be explained, would you please entertain me few minutes and enlighten me?” As an agitated John nods, he continues, looking at the doctor curiously “How did you know? I saw the whole scene, it’s obvious when you switch from despair to… I don’t know how to call it, maybe confidence? Why? What gave it away? What have we done wrong?”

The joy of a real confirmation that his soulmate was really alive pushes his anxiety away and brought a flash of warmth. The relief made him forget for a few minutes how he should probably – it’s in his guts – hate the man in front of him, so happy to talk about Sherlock. He sits back on the bed, now fully clothed, and closes his eyes, letting his mind wander as he begins.  

“You are probably fully aware that Sherlock is my soulmate… Got the feeling that you were not happy when I moved in with him, that you were afraid that I, I don’t know… will be trouble for him in one way or another.” A small smile appears on John’s lips as he remembers the first meeting, but it quickly faded as he talked quietly, mostly to himself. “It’s strange, the feeling. Always has been. I know that sometimes a link can be hard to ‘activate’ or whatever. That after the first touch, the first bond, it takes time to be perfectly in-sync. But I realized after the first days that, if I was reacting to Sherlock’s touch, he wasn’t reacting to mine.” The pain was clear in his voice and Mycroft shifted a bit on his chair. “And if I used to feel him sometimes when he was younger, I have pages and pages of notes about him, I was now unable to reach him. To feel him. But, that first night, he told me that he wasn’t a gifted… I didn’t, I still don’t understand, how fate can be that cruel…” 

As he remembered years and years of silence, of not knowing if his soulmate was alive, the false hope the first time he met Sherlock, tears start to fall down his cheeks. “I don’t understand how it’s possible… I tried for months, touching him innocently, trying to watch his eyes when I was wounded or sick… Nothing. It was as if… I was nobody.” The reminiscences as well as Sherlock's fake suicide changes his silent tears to noisy, ugly sobs. _God, look at me. What a good soldier I am…_

Silently, Mycroft rises and offers his handkerchief, the uneasiness of being witness to John’s distress knowing that it was mainly his own doing, makes him ill at ease. Sherlock's cold look of disgust as he turns towards the plane. _Take care of him and maybe I’ll talk to you again. Maybe…_ Knowing that it was the only thing he could do to _possibly re_ gain his brother's trust if not love. Mycroft steps away from John, remains standing and clears his throat. “Doctor Watson… Perhaps I can help you understand what… why my brother reacted like that.” At that overture, John tenses ready to tackle Holmes if needed, secret services or not. Seeing the change of stance, Mycroft raises a hand. “Please, Doctor Watson… Please. Give me few minutes and if you want to punch me after I say my piece, I will not protest. Nothing that you can do to me can be worse than what Sherlock wanted to do.”

Sitting back on the bed, a look of revulsion on his face, John growls out, “What have you done to us? No more secrets!”

Both hands on his umbrella handle, like if he needed the support, Mycroft tries to find the words that can justify his actions. Everything started with the best intent and pure love for his little brother, but now, more than fifteen years later... _And now that Sherlock knows…_ _   _

“It goes far back, even before you both reached puberty. It’s a long road full of misguided good intentions.” He pauses for a few seconds then continues. “I know that you are not interested in my own personal hell, Dr. Watson, but as Sherlock's life was shaped by events that happened to me, I must start there.” hooking the handle of his umbrella on his forearm, he picked up the pitcher of water on the nightstand and poured out two glasses. Keeping one for him, he withdraws to his original position. “You won’t be surprised that I was a solitary child, in fact my only companion, close to my own age was Sherlock. He was such a sweet child, more emotional than me of course.” He smiles as he remembers tantrums or bursts of laughter. “It was hard when I left for university, he remained alone at home with our parents when I was alone in college. You won’t be surprises that I wasn’t popular among the other students, I became colder… Everything changed at the university.”

“At uni, I suppose you were younger than the others, like Sherlock… What happened when you turned eighteen?”

“As I already knew what I wanted to do as a career, even if discrimination is illegal, gifted in the government high-hierarchy are curiously scarcely represented. So… I made sure that my test result was negative.”

“How could you do that? It’s forgery…” He mutters, angry at that unknown so-called 'doctor'. “An honest doctor would never…” Horror spreads on John face when the pieces fall in place. “THIS IS WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO SHERLOCK!”

“Stay calm, John, let me finish this… So… In university, I met a nice girl that wasn’t afraid of my attitude, who loved to talk to me about anything. She was my first and remains to this day my only friend.” 

It was so rare for either Mycroft or Sherlock to talk about personal things, that curiosity pushed away his anger for a moment and he asked quietly, “Did something happen between the two of you?”

Stepping out of his reverie, Holmes protests as if John had blasphemed.“Of course not! She was with her soulmate, a wonderful young man that I quite liked a lot also! Anyway, as far as I know I’m gay.” 

_ What a strange way to say things _ .  “Sorry… But something happened?"

“Yes… A drunk driver killed her soulmate. It was horrible… I never felt so inadequate.” Bile was pooling in the politician as he remembered the darks week following the accident. “She killed herself, unable to live without him.”

“That’s horrible… I don’t know what I would have done if Sherlock had died for real. I would probably first do anything to avenge him and clear his name… And after… I don’t know.” The idea of a world without the detective was horrible, full of darkness. “What did you do, after?”

“I understood first of all that changing my record wasn’t enough… So I organize everything to free my soulmate, he doesn’t know that I’m the one whose gave him that gift, and I started to take the hormone to block the effect of the soulanium in my blood.  As far as I know, my soulmate does not feel anything and for him I am dead, and I personally only feel him when a situation is particularly emotionally draining.”

“You condemned that man to a life without love, this is horrible… And for you… ” John was now looking to Mycroft pitifully. “You said ‘I understood first’, what did you do - what did you do after that?"

“When Sherlock turned  eighteen, I falsified his record as well.” He watches the doctor sideways, noting that his fists were closing and opening. _You can do it, doctor, I deserve it!_

Calmly, John asks “And… how did he take it?”

“Badly… I wasn’t expecting that. As his boyfriend wasn’t gifted, he should have been happy, not melancholic. They started fighting, not knowing what was wrong… Sherlock was always missing something, he confronted Victor, asked him how he could possibly love him. A year or so after the test, Victor left him… Tired and frustrated about their relationship.” He sighs, wanting the discussion to be over.  _I need to sleep, I need tea and I need to check with Anthea if Sherlock is really on his way to his first assignment._

John was calculating in his head. _Sherlock was nearly 20 years old then… So it was in what, 1999? 1999... The month when I was feeling horrible that was followed by darkness._ “What happened?”

“Pardon?”

“What happened in 1999…” John was shaking, trying to control the urge to knock Mycroft to the floor.

“He… started using drugs. But I am happy to say that he’s been clean since you've been in his life, Dr. Watson.” The tall man was clearly uneasy.

“What else?” John pushes and moves closer.

“I don’t understand…”

“What. Else.”

Giving up, Sherlock's brother murmurs, “he overdosed, and nearly died. After months of therapy he was feeling better as he built walls around his heart.  Fully accepting something that will drive him for the following years…” John looks at Mycroft's eyes with horror, waiting for the rest. “That… All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advent-"

Holmes didn’t have the time to finish the end of his sentence before John's fist smashed into his jaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> Hey guys! Question for you! And what about Mycroft and Greg? Am I helping them or let them simmer? What do you think?  
> **


	16. May I come in?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg...

_Oh God… For once I would have loved a bloody rainy day._ The few rays that pass through the living room curtains were killing Greg. His head, already pounding from all the alcohol from the night before, was protesting. Loudly. _Could someone kill the sun please…_ The detective struggles to get out of the plaid that he was twisted in and was finally able to sits of the sofa. Opening his eyes again, his gaze falls on the empty ale bottles and the half drunk litre of whisky. _Shit. I’m going to pay for that… Coffee, I need coffee and paracetamol. And I need to pee. Loo, paracetamol and coffee._

And then suddenly it hits him.

 _Sherlock. Sherlock is dead._  
   
At that thought, a wave of nausea makes him run to the toilet. After the heaving ceases, leaving him shaken and worse than before, tears that he didn’t know he still had left start to fall again freely. His head in his hands, he sobs for what feels like hours but was probably only a few minutes… Crying over the situation, the loss of a great man who could have become a good one, about his own responsibility in that mess, and that haunted look on Mycroft Holmes' face... Drained, he didn’t have the strength to push himself from the cold bathroom floor. _It’s not possible… A man, so full of life, so talented, that crazy genius… How could he… And John, I was sure that he loved him, how could he leave him like that?_ As he was trying to figure it out, the feeling of culpability took over all other sentiments. 

_It’s my fault. I didn’t protect him._

_It’s my fault. I should have fought harder and not let the others put doubts in my mind._

_It’s my fault. Parents lost their son._

_It’s my fault. Mycroft Holmes lost his brother… Probably the nearest thing to a friend that he has._

_It’s my fault. John… Oh John… I’m so sorry…_

The image of John as he disappeared in the crowd finally shakes him from his catatonic state. _Where is he? Holmes told me that he was in a private hospital… Is this the same place where he put Sherlock that time two years ago? I must find him, I… I…_ He was pushing himself up using the bathtub when he falls back on the floor. _Who am I kidding? John doesn’t need me… I’m the last one he probably wants to talk to._ Mycroft’s words still stung harshly. _I can say with certainty that if there’s something that my parents and I do not need now is the Met's sympathy._ Greg, overwhelmed by sadness, was only able to nearly crawl back to the sofa where he drops instantly in a troubled sleep full of nightmares. Images of Sherlock morphing with Moriarty's face, of blood on the sidewalk, of the morgue… it was a restless sleep.

  
   
Hours after, he wakes up again for good. He was feeling slightly better but the guilt was even more devastating now that he was conscious enough. He tries to remember; with his foggy head it wasn’t an easy task, all the events that brought Sherlock to commit suicide. The cases that Moriarty, because that psychopath could only be real, sent to Sherlock months ago… _Carl Powers, the murder of Connie Prince, Janus Cars… It’s impossible, Sherlock couldn’t have killed those people just to make a point… To prove that he’s clever! And those children, he was clearly distressed when the little girl started screaming. And if he wanted to create a fake Moriarty, why did he acted like a bastard in front of the judge? How could I have been so blind, so easily manipulated. The ultimate proof is Mycroft Holmes. As if Holmes would have let Sherlock do things like that… He would have put him away in some super-secret facility! But it’s too late, I can't save him. But I can try to clear his name!_

Finally, able to get to his feet, and stand without swaying,  the detective walks to the kitchen and starts a pot of strong coffee while popping a couple paracetamol. Once he had a mug in hand, he opens his computer.  _Time to fight back. I owe Sherlock and John that much._

 

The fall of darkness takes him by surprise, the screen of his computer the sole light in his flat. He slowly picks up the remains of his supper, just a sandwich and crisps, and of many mugs of coffee and tea. It was a productive day for someone as hangover as he was. He looks with satisfaction at the pile of documents on his kitchen table, official or not, newspaper articles, print outs of John’s blog, pictures of crime scenes, all carefully labelled. He was convinced that the Met or Holmes won’t let those files stay available for long. _Better to have hard copy here_. The flat was silent, with the exception of the light buzzing coming from the fridge. Too silent for a troubled man… _Where’s my phone?_

He finds it under the sofa. It was, of course, completely dead. With a mix of fear and trepidation, he quickly puts it on its charger. _It’s been 24 hours… My team is probably looking for me._ Looking out the window, he sees a car in front of his building. With a concerned Sally Donovan in it.  _I don’t have time for that, I've work to do and no patience to deal with her smugness... or guilt. Dealing with my own is though enough!_  His phone starts beeping as soon as it reaches the bare minimum amount of energy. 23 messages, 87 texts. _Shit._ He didn’t have the courage to listen to the messages, it was mostly his family and his immediate superior, so he opens the texts app. Quickly, he scrolls through the messages… deleting the ‘Where are you?’ and ‘Are you ok?’ and ‘Did you heard about Sherlock Holmes?’ It left him with only few messages.

> Greg! I think we were wrong… It’s impossible. Suicide is not something that someone who has created an alter ego like Moriarty would do. We need to talk to an expert. I don’t know. Anderson 
> 
> I’m sorry, I know that you liked him a lot. Anderson
> 
> Greg, I just want to be certain that you are all right, you ran from the morgue with a terrible look on your face. Don’t do anything silly. Please. Talk to me if you need something. Molly
> 
> Just to let you know that I took care of Mrs. Hudson, she’s now with her sister in a resort in the north. The poor woman doesn’t deserve to deal with the press that is camping in front of 221b. MH

A persistent knock on the door diverts his attention. Preparing himself to turn down whoever was there – especially if it’s Sally Donovan – he answers the door.

“Greg, may I come in?”

 With a nod, Lestrade opens the door to let in a exhausted John Watson.


	17. #IbelieveInSherlockHolmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft... Part 2 
> 
> They need to talk about where the hell is Sherlock... But they need to stop somewhere before.

Mycroft was on the floor, nursing his jaw. He rises slowly, holding his umbrella like a cane, and brushes the dust from his suit. “Hope you’re feeling better now, Doctor Watson.” His voice was calm but with an edge of hardness. The message was clear, _I’m giving you this one… but you won’t touch me twice_.

“Far from it, don’t push your luck, Holmes.” John nearly growls the name, not wanting to call the man by his first name _– he’s not my bloody friend!_ – but hating the fact that he shares Sherlock surname. “Now that you  have cleared what little conscience you have by confessing everything that you have fucked up in the last fifteen years, where is Sherlock?”

“Get your things, we’re going somewhere else.” Taking out his phone, Mycroft texts his chauffeur. “We can’t talk here… But we need to make a stop first.”

John patience was running thin… “Where?”

“Baker Street.”

 

The ride to the flat wasn’t long, only a few kilometres, but the ambiance in the town car was cold and full of animosity. Looking at Sherlock’s brother with revulsion, John was taking the minutes he had before arriving at 221b to try to put order to the thoughts spinning in his head. It was not an easy task, as the confirmation that Sherlock was really alive and, furthermore, that he was actually truly his soulmate were bringing him an incommensurable measure of joy… but the thought that all that was happening was Mycroft Holmes' responsibility was driving him close to a fit of rage. _He’s really lucky that I need him right now… Because… I can’t tell what I could do to him!_ The idea of Sherlock, alone in rehab after he tried to kill himself was bringing tears to his eyes! _Poor love… pushed to his limit because he didn’t know that he was loved unconditionally. Using his genius mind to shove everyone away, unaware that I was looking for him like a mad man._ Not caring a bit about Mycroft's opinion, he let the tears run freely. 

The tall man brings him back to reality with a sharp, “Good, you won’t have to act that much...” as they stop at the end of Baker Street, far away enough to not be spotted. 

“What the hell…” The street, except a small corridor directly in front of 221b that was protected by policemen, was full of journalists and reporters with cameramen from all the big broadcasters. John's ire was rising at the thought of those who benefited from Sherlock's fall from grace; the vultures were already circling, ready to make their profits from lurid headlines. “Get them out!” He was livid… “Get them out of OUR street! It the least you can do, Holmes!”

“I’m sorry to say, Doctor Watson, that we need them for the moment…” He pauses, until John's eyes were fixed darkly on him. “Listen to me. For them. For the world. For everyone. And I mean _everyone_. Sherlock. Is. Dead.” He enunciates clearly, knowing that the stunt they are about to perform was as important as his brother jumping from the building. “I will explain the details soon, don’t worry, but for now we are going out of this car, go up to the flat where you’re going to pack up the belonging you need for few days and that’s all.”

“Why… we could stop at any Mark & Spencer… There’s nothing that I need that matters…” He closes his eyes, the idea of entering the empty flat was unbearable. “If I’m doing it, may I take some of Sherlock’s things?”

“Yes, of course… Anything you want or need. I will take some papers and the items on a list that Sherlock asked us to pick up to put them away safely.”

“Ok… Ok then. But, the journalists?” John looks at them with a mix of anxiety and a profound desire to kill those bastards.

"As I told you, they are part of the scenario, even if they don’t know it. Greediness… For once it can be useful. They need to see your sorrow.”

Frowning, John mutters, “they will ask… questions.” 

“I’m certain that you’re going to be able to improvise, if you don’t know what to say cry with a noble grieving face and say, ‘no comment’” 

“Okay. It’s going to be all right. I can do that… for him.”

With a warm sad smile, Mycroft knocks on the partition to indicate to his chauffeur that they were ready to go to 221b. “As Sherlock said, 'into battle.' ”

 

Nothing prepares John for the clamour that greets them when they get out of the car. There were more than a hundred journalists, cameramen, bystanders, policemen… _Oh my God…_ They had to wait for the escort of a few policemen just to be able to access the sidewalk. Mycroft’s chauffeur/bodyguard didn’t get out of the car to minimize his importance but as some of his entourage was mixed with the crowd they weren’t at risk. The questions were coming from every direction. The journalists all screaming John’s name to get his attention.

“Doctor Watson, did he write you a farewell letter?”

“Is this a confession?”

“Confirmation that you were a couple, doctor Watson. Our reader wants to know!”

“Mister Holmes, as the brother of a suspected criminal mastermind and suicide, how do you think your career will be affected?"

“Doctor Watson, how was he in bed? Any kinks or strange behaviour? Role play of any sort?”

“Are you going to bury him in the family lot or elsewhere because of the shame he brought on your family?”

“Where is Richard Brook, do we know if Sherlock killed him before he committed suicide?”

At that, John finally burst and turns to face the crowd. “Moriarty was real!” He was shouting, while Mycroft puts a hand on his harm to calm him. “Sherlock…” His voice breaks. “Sherlock was… my friend.  And nobody will ever _ever_   convince me that he lied to me and certainly not the scum of society like you lot!”

The door of 221b finally opens and Mycroft gently pushes John in before closing it, keeping the clamour of the crowd outside. Shattered, John sits on the first step, trying to calm himself, to resist the will to go back in the street to defend Sherlock's name. Murmuring, Mycroft reminds John to stay in his persona while in the flat because who knows… “Come on, Doctor Watson, let's do this.” He offers his hand to the man who was everything to his brother, but with is lips set in a tight line, John refuses the help and gets up slowly before going up the stairs to their home. 

 

On the landing, Mycroft opens the door of the flat. “Please go to your room to prepare your clothes and personal items and then rejoin me in the living room.” John, in urgent need of being alone few minutes, nearly runs to his bedroom, leaving Mycroft alone.

Walking slowly inside the emporium that was his brother's flat, the older Holmes lets go the breath he didn’t know he was keeping inside. _Now is not the time for emotions… Later. When the first day is over. When… I… When... Anthea confirms that Sherlock is safe and sound in his first bolt hole._ He chuckles softly at his own foolishness. _Who am I kidding, I won’t be able to sleep well until he's safely back in London._ Taking out his phone, he looks at the list Sherlock gave him before. _Before he… before he pushed me away._ He knows that his brother was totally within his rights to hate him, he was already hating himself for what’s happening, but it stings nonetheless. _All this to protect us from sentiment…  to end up both played by Moriarty who used our emotions against us. My love for my brother, my brother’s love for John Watson and his friends…_ Placing his umbrella near the entry door, he starts gathering the random items that Sherlock requested on the kitchen table. A Persian slipper; The skull; The stump of a candle that was in the drawer of his bed table; The violin as well as few hand written partitions; A Met insignia with the name of DI Greg Lestrade; His Judo certificate; A dozen of books on various subjects, clearly chosen for sentimental reasons; The brochure of that inn in Baskerville with a paper what looks like Morse code on it… Mementos of his life, especially of the life that his brother had shared with John.  

As he was placing everything in a archival box he found in a closet, Mycroft thought about how little he got to show for his life. He has plenty of beautiful things, but that was only that: things. _If I had to fill a bag, what would I put in it? The few pictures I’ve got of Sherlock and me… Of my friend Sophie… But other than that?_ He shakes the melancholy from his mind before getting the last item, a small security box from a discreet safe in Sherlock’s room. He was depositing the box on the table when John arrives, duffle bag in hand, his eyes red and swollen from crying. With a composed voice, he points the box on the table.

“What’s that?”

“Sherlock’s security box. With his insurance papers, his will… And who knows what.” The box went with the rest, ready to go.

“But… we won’t need it... I…” _It’s a sham, a pretence, we won’t open his will!_  

Raising his hand as a warning while resisting with difficulty the urge of rolling his eyes, _And to say I’ve told the man that we may be under surveillance!,_ Mycroft interrupts “John… I know that you are devastated, but we need to do everything the right way. His will may indicate how he wishes to be buried and so on…”

“Yes, yes… I’m sorry Mycroft, of course. We need to do as he wishes… And it may help your poor parents…”

“Let’s go, John. I won’t leave you alone tonight. You’re coming to my place.” He picked up the box and starts walking toward the door. “I need to go to the office to sign some papers then we will able to sit down with tea or a whisky and talk about all this…”

John follows, with the strange feeling of abandoning Sherlock once more. Outside the door, the policemen were waiting to escort them to the car. The journalists were still energetically trying to get a statement or to catch a picture of a crying Doctor Watson with his “brother-in-law”. John didn’t react and kept walking to the car when one voice, one hated voice, resonated over the noise the crowd was making.

“Doctor Watson, you must give us something, we’re only doing our job! You owe us!”

“I do not owe you a thing, Miss Riley, you have already taken too much.” He pauses, trembling as the woman who had actively participated in Sherlock's rapid descent into hell by becoming the puppet of the real criminal mastermind.

Another journalist, pushing away the red hair, asks quickly “One last comment, Doctor Watson?”

Standing near the open car door, John simply states with a strong convincing voice “MORIARTY WAS REAL. I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES,” before jumping in the car.

“Well done, Doctor Watson.” Mycroft says, with an approving nod. “We’re going to my office now, we will be able to talk and I will have news about Sherlock's present location. 

 

Neither of them realized that the hashtags ‘Moriarty was real’ and ‘I believe in Sherlock Holmes’ were spreading at lightning speed  just a few moments later.


	18. Let me know if you need something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first day...

A gentle hand squeezes Sherlock's shoulder. “Sir, we’re going to land in one hour.” After the sleeping man opens his eyes, he continues. “You need to get ready. Do you want coffee or tea?” 

Tea was the first thought that springs to mind, but then tea leads to home that leads to John… _No. Not tea._ “Coffee, black, please.” While he was shaking off the last remnant of his one hour nap – he didn’t realize that he was so physically and emotionally drained and he drifted off to sleep as soon as his eyes closed for a second - he organizes his few papers. A new passport, visa, the names and faces of the targets in Russia as well as where they were last seen. A little smile appears on his face when he opens his passport. _Walter S. Lochkson, don’t know if Mycroft figured it out? Even more precious today than when I come up with weeks ago._ Getting up to go to the small bathroom of the aircraft, he opens a bag that had been left there for him. Looking at his curls for one last time, he pulls out the clipper and begins.

Because of the length of the flight as well as the time difference, it was already late when he gets back to his seat. He looks outside, at the fields outside Moscow where they're going to land on a secret airfield, but everything was dark. An oppressive feeling was spreading in his chest at the thought of what laid ahead of him when the sound of Mycroft's trusted man bringing  his coffee pulls him back from his reverie.

“A transport has been organized to take you to Ulitsa train station where a night train for Saratov is leaving at 3AM.” He extends his hand toward the detective, “If I may, sir, I hope that when all this is over we’ll be allowed to publicly talk about all this. I don’t know many agents who would attempt, let alone embrace this mission.” The agent's face was beaming in respect, in awe over what Sherlock was about to do. “I have followed your career, Mr. Holmes, for many years and if any civilian can do it, it’s you. Good luck, Sir.”

“Thank you, Thompson, that means a lot coming from you.” The man smiles and nods as Sherlock prepares for the landing.

 

An hour later, Sherlock was in his First-Class cabin in the train. He knows that such luxury won’t be the norm, so he tries to relax a bit and finally opens his burner phone to contact Anthea. _Nothing to do till I reach Saratov anyway…_ The phone chimes as soon as it reaches the secure network. _Two messages.  
_

> I will take care of them, I promise. Just promise me that you’ll be careful and able to come back to those who love you so much and that you won’t let my actions trouble your focus. YB
> 
> YB told me that I am your official liaison for your business trip. Please let me know when you are moving from place to place and the status of the negotiations or if you need something. A

_I understand that it’s better not to use our real name… But YB! Your Brother… as if!_ Erasing Mycroft's message, he quickly responds to Anthea, trying to be careful as the security of the line wasn’t confirmed. 

> Just to let you know that the flight was ok, that I’m currently in the train for the first meeting. WL
> 
> Great to hear from you! Try to relax in the train, the last weeks were hard with all the overtime. A
> 
> Any news from the home office? WL
> 
> Nothing amiss, we will take care of your job while you’re away don’t worry. A
> 
> I’ve got confirmation on the safety of the line. A
> 
> Now. How are you for real? A
> 
> Passed first security check at the railway station without any problem. I’m really in the train, trying to relax, don’t fuss. WL
> 
> Are you aware of John Watson... situation? WL
> 
> With John being your soulmate? A
> 
> Of course, you know… But it’s ok I understand you were following orders.  WL
> 
> I don’t want to try to excuse what Mr. Holmes has done but… A
> 
> Then don’t. WL
> 
> Any news from him, got the feeling that he knows. WL
> 
> Yes, he realized pretty quickly that you couldn’t  have been dead. A
> 
> We removed him from the scene. As secrecy was essential for his security and yours. A
> 
> He’s ok? WL
> 
> Yes, yes. Still sleeping, your brother is going to talk to him in the morning, London time. A
> 
> Good luck with that, if he’s lucky John will only punch him. WL
> 
> Do you want to talk to him? A
> 
> No. WL
> 
> And to John? A
> 
> Yes. WL
> 
> No. WL
> 
> I don’t think it’s wise. I need to be focused and he must keep up the pretence. WL   
> 
> You know he’s out presently but as soon as he’s awake, he’s going to feel you. You can't hide from him anymore I think. The shock of seeing you fall, that you are finally aware… The link is definitively functional between you two now. And strong. A
> 
> I know. WL
> 
> It’s scares me. WL
> 
> Don’t! It’s a good thing. A
> 
> Don’t want to talk about it. What about Ms. Hudson and Lestrade? WL
> 
> Ms. Hudson is at her sister's house, as 221b is surrounded by journalists. A
> 
> Lestrade… I think the guilt he feels exacerbates his pain. A
> 
> Pain? He’s been shot? All this was because I didn’t want anyone to get shot! WL
> 
> He’s in pain because of your suicide, you dimwit. A
> 
> Why? He’s probably feeling a bit guilty because of all this, but he was doing his job. WL
> 
> Oh God… What I’m going to do with you two! A
> 
> Meaning? WL
> 
> You and your brother. Unable to comprehend that someone loves you. A
> 
> For Lestrade, he lost a FRIEND. That's why he’s pain. Not because of guilt or honour or whatever! A
> 
> Do you believe that John loves you at least? A
> 
> Is it really the moment to have this conversation? WL
> 
> Do you? A
> 
> Doesn’t my brother need you for something? WL
> 
> DO YOU! A
> 
> Stop pestering me, is this what you do all day long on your bloody Blackberry? Harass people? WL 
> 
> To people who don’t answer a simple question, yes. A
> 
> Yes, he loves me, of course. WL
> 
> He has to, he’s my soulmate. WL
> 
> Enough! I can't deal with this level of stupidity at the moment. It’s 3AM, I’m going to sleep. A
> 
> I will talk to you when you arrive in Saratov. I’ll have news from John. A
> 
> Good. WL
> 
> And thank you for taking care of this situation instead of… him. I appreciate it. WL
> 
> Anything that I can do for help, just ask me, don’t worry. A
> 
> Good night. WL
> 
> Good night, be careful. A. 

The conversation he had with Anthea was running in his head as he falls asleep for the few hours left before sunrise. It was ok, not enough data about the rest of his mission anyway, he may as well sleep. But he was unable to stop dreaming about St. Barts, the feeling of the wind in his hair, through his coat, Moriarty's blood everywhere, Moriarty alive and pushing him while laughing… _It’s impossible, he’s dead!_ John's voice screaming his name.

Sherlock bolts upright in his bed, eyes open, his heart beating rapidly. He stands, a hand on the wall to help him keep balance in the moving train. Opening a small light fixture, he watches his face in the mirror above a small porcelain sink. It was him, nothing has changed, except that he’s no longer alone. Somewhere, a thousand kilometres away, John Watson – his soulmate – is waiting for him. The idea, that should comfort him, was bringing him to the verge of panic. _This is wrong, something is wrong… I am missing something.   Okay, now think! For God sakes, think!_ He splashes some cold water on his face, to chase away the last vestiges of his nightmare. _John must be sedated for a few hours again, he does not feel anything. Does not have bad dreams. That's ok. He's fine. Perfect. Nothing to worry about._  

And suddenly, he understands why he was so uneasy. As the first light appears on the horizon he knows what he needs to do.

 

The sun was going down on the city of Saratov when the train enters the station. Picking up his bag, Sherlock walks in direction of the exit, like a man who has nothing to worry about. Besides his now short hair, his clothes were now more discreet. Jeans, t-shirt and a vest. Nothing fancy. He quickly disappears into the mass of people, knowing where to go to find an hotel where no one asks question… but every question he may have has a price. He finds the perfect place at the end of an alley. Once in the room, he puts his bag on the dirty bed and pays cash for the week.

“Dayte mne znat', yesli vam nuzhno chto-to*.” The shady man says before he turns away, money in his pocket.

 _Yes, you can do something more for me._ Closing his eyes, letting the pain and the sorrow overwhelm him one last time, before he asks in perfect Russian, "I need a good dealer."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Let me know if you need something (Google translate! If it's rubbish, let me know!)


	19. I may not be as good as you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last part of Mycroft and John discussion... 
> 
> Still in the first (never-ending) 24h following the fall...

The car was advancing slowly, trapped as he was by the rush hour traffic. John turns his gaze from the window to mutters to Mycroft. “Good to know that even you can be stuck in traffic.”

Mycroft, who was starting to become irritated by the situation and was a second away from asking his chauffeur to open the road at any cost, offered him his coldest smile. “I am only human, Dr. Watson, sorry if I don’t stand up well against what you imagine.” He looks outside, they were a only few minutes from his office. The short journey was becoming intolerable with the weight of Sherlock’s security box between them on the seat, full of the unknown. The heaviness of the last hours, from the discussion with John, the retelling of Sophie’s story, the doctor strong uppercut, the journalists, the visit to 221b… for the umpteenth time since he woke from a tormented sleep in the morning, Mycroft longed for the day to end.

Just as he was about to lose his temper, the road opens up. Simpson winks in the mirror as Mycroft remembers why he’s paying his chauffeur/ bodyguard as much as he does. _Thank God the people down the hall had no qualms about changing the traffic lights for him._ A few minutes later, the car enters an underground parking garage. Jumping out of the car, the chauffeur surveys the area before opening the door.

“Everything is clear Sir, Maxell is in faction inside and Anthea is waiting in your division.”

“Thank you, Simpson. I won’t need you for the next hours but please be available around 7 pm, I won’t go home late tonight.” Mycroft motions John towards a nondescript door with Sherlock's belongings in their hands.

“All right Sir, I’ll stay in the compound, I have a moving target practice to attend. Just text me when you’re ready.” With a nod to both men, the chauffeur leaves through the other side of the garage leaving the doctor speechless at the idea of why a _chauffeur_ needs target practice! He follows the government man until they stop at a heavy metal door. Holmes punched in a code on a small keyboard with his free hand and presents himself to a retina recognition camera.

Impressed by all the security measures, _am I in a bad spy movie?,_ John asks with sarcasm, “Remind me again what you are doing?”

“Nothing that should concern you,” Mycroft voice was suddenly already tired of the conversation that will follow, “let's just say that we don’t have a lot of outside visitors.” Once the door is closed, they walk into a corridor where a man – Maxell, John presumes – was waiting.

“Sir, I have a visitor card for Doctor Watson.” He extends his hand to give the magnetic card that include a copy of the picture that John had on his passport. “And, excuse me if it’s out of the line, but I just want to say how sorry we all were to hear about your brother and we want to offer you and Doctor Watson, our deepest condolences.  We know your brother well and I remember when we had Moriarty for questioning. We are all convinced that he was telling the truth, let us know if we can help with anything.” He then rises to press his magnetic card on the card reader near the door. With a sad expression, one able to fool anybody, Mycroft simply thanks the man before going inside his department.

John, confused and exasperated, protests “What was that… That man he didn’t know… Is it a secret even for your staff?”

“Doctor Watson, could you please wait a few minutes? My office is at the end of the corridor.” Glancing around, he spots Anthea. “Anthea, my office, now, please.”

“Yes, Sir. Doctor Watson.” She steps in front of them to opens the thick soundproof oak door. “You didn’t eat today Sir, I’ve orders a light cold lunch for both of you.”

“Thank you, that’s perfect.” Now in the sanctuary of his office, Mycroft mask cracks a little before his eyes fall on John. _One last thing before I can go home, alone with my thoughts... and a good whisky._ “Doctor Watson, please take a seat.” Anxious, John sits at the end of a chair in front of the desk while Anthea positions herself beside her boss. “As you know… My brother is alive.” Bile rises in Mycroft throat at the idea of Sherlock alone and angry a thousand kilometers away. _Without the man who become his first real friend, the man he has loved for nearly two years without knowing that it was possible, that he was loved as well._ Thinking about the conversation he had with his brother before he left, Holmes was still amazed that his little brother hadn’t attacked him. _Probably too disgusted to even touch me… What a mess… Got the feeling that John won’t be able to curb his will to tackle me again when I’m going to explain where his soulmate his._ From the corner of his eyes, he read the last report on his brother position. _All is going as planned for now._ Mycroft finally turns his attention back on the doctor, when he hears John Watson clearing his throat.

“When you are ready, Holmes. What is happening? Where is he? When would I be able to talk to him, to see him…” The last words were nearly inaudible, as the sturdy blond man's voice cracked. The weight of the last 24 hours were finally wearing him down.

“As you know, Sherlock found a way to send you away… In fact, you weren’t supposed to be back so soon. It was a slight miscalculation on our parts.” Mycroft extends his hand and gives a document to the doctor. It was a road map of what had happened yesterday. The timing, the list of all the people involved in the affair… _No need to hide anything now._ “The official contingency included a plan to knock you a little bit, if you were to show up, to give us the time to remove everything and set up Sherlock on the sidewalk. Also, I had some of my men ready to do what was needed if you were too… eager… to follow the corpse. Sherlock knew that a thorough investigation from you wouldn’t be convincing enough.” Mycroft took a sip from the glass of water on his desk, motioning Anthea to serve John. “… And I know that if by a twist of faith, you realized that he was alive because of your... link." At those words, Mycroft saw John clench and unclench his fist, but he continues "... you needed to be neutralized as quickly as possible for both your security.”

John shakes his head. “Unbelievable. You two are exactly the same sometimes, it’s kind of freaking me out.”

Frowning, the politician asks, “I don’t understand…”

“I don’t care HOW.” He puts his glass on the mahogany desk, not caring at all for any water marks he may leave behind. “I don’t want to hear you gloat about your so perfect plan… Or how I nearly screwed it up by being too human!  And you already told me the WHY this morning… Now I need to know WHERE he is right at this fucking moment.” 

“Oh… All right.” _No need to be rude._ Mycroft turns to silently asks Anthea support. She nods discreetly and steps in front of the desk.

"For Sherlock, the total destruction of Moriarty network was primary for your security as well as the other potential victims and the general public.” She presses a button on a remote and opens a big screen that was located on one of the wall of the office. A map of the Eastern hemisphere appears a few seconds after.  John pushes the chair away and walks slowly towards the map, stopping when he was only a meter away. He was looking everywhere in the UK first, then France, Germany, Spain, Italy… Before his eyes move to Eastern Europe. Disregarding quickly Poland, Hungry, Ukraine… 

Mycroft Holmes rises and stand beside him, unable to stop his hands to slowly shaking. “Anthea… Please.”

A red dot appears at the far right of John field of vision… Stepping down few paces, he slowly shakes his head in incredulity. “No, no, no… He’s not _already_  in the middle of Russia!” Rushing back to the screen he puts a hand on the little blinking mark, as if he was able to touch his soulmate. “What so important in… Saratov.”

“His first target… My brother must locate and get the evidence to implicate the men in Moriarty's web. They need to be apprehended or everything would have been for nothing.” Mycroft decides to stay silent about how Sherlock was supposed to _neutralize_ his targets. _No need to add more fuel to John's anger... Until Sherlock gives us instructions about what to tell him._

Leaving John, Mycroft went back to his chair, letting Anthea summarize the details of Sherlock journey to Russia to a crumbling doctor.

 

“And after…” John was looking only at Anthea, as if he was able to feel that Holmes was somewhat over his head with all this. _I keep forgetting that it’s his little brother we are talking about…_ “After Saratov? What’s going to happen?”  

“The journey to the next target…” The woman whispered.

Stunned, John simply murmurs “And how many are they…”

Mycroft, wanting to relieve the pressure from Anthea, explains.“We are still finding new collaborators…”

“How many!”

“Twenty so far…”

The doctor's demeanour switches instantly. “Organize a transport quickly! I’m going to help him!” He fetches his coat and was fighting against an uncooperative sleeve when Anthea puts a light hand on his shoulder. Already in fighting mode, John spins away from her touch before remembering where he was.

“Doctor Watson… You must understand that it’s impossible…” Her pleading tone was soft, so unusual for the woman that John's frenetic behaviour finally stopped. “If you are not seen in Baker Street, if you don’t show all the sign of grieving… They’ll know that Sherlock is still alive.”

“And this, doctor, will put Sherlock in far more danger than he is at the moment. Playing 'dead' is his main asset as well as knowing that you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson are safe is important for his peace of mind and his concentration.” Mycroft calmly added. "This is also why only a few persons are aware, even here. Need to know basis, only."

Once more unable to contain his tears, John attached his gaze on the little flashing point on the map. “But, he doesn’t work well with others… Who’s with him? He needs me…” As Anthea and Mycroft remained silent, John realizes. “He’s alone. You. YOU let him go to… to... to war ALONE!” Unable to keep calm, he starts to pace in the large office. Ideas bouncing in his head! Sherlock alone, sick, hurt… His hands fall on the security box that contains the detective's will. _It's still a possibility, he may never came back to me._ He tries to relax, to open the link with his soulmate fully. _I can’t reach him, I don’t feel him! I didn’t feel him since yesterday!_ “I can’t reach him, are you certain that he’s... okay!”

Anthea, after a quick glance to her superior, uploads her last conversation with Sherlock. “He’s traveling under a false name… and we tried to not be too specific even if it’s a secure line. But here is the exchange I had with him an hour ago.”

>  Just to let you know that I’m Saratov. I’ve found a satisfactory place to stay. WL
> 
> Thanks for the update. Are you doing well? A
> 
> Yes. WL
> 
> Did you eat? A
> 
> Yes, God you’re worse than… Anyway. I’ve eaten a few protein bars and something that is supposed to be some kind of fruit. WL
> 
> Any news from home? WL
> 
> Everything went as expected. YB went to talk to him. A
> 
> It was… satisfactory. A
> 
> That good? Hope he didn’t restrain himself too much… WL
> 
> Let say that he’s going to need ice when he’s going to be home tonight. A
> 
> Good. Don’t forget to remind him of his part of the bargain. WL
> 
> He knows, don’t worry. A
> 
> Do you want to talk to YB? A
> 
> No. Stop asking. WL
> 
> And to him? He’s probably going to be at the office this afternoon. A
> 
> I can’t WL
> 
> I need to stay strong and… I think that talking to him will… Not now. No. WL
> 
> But keep asking… Each time. Please. WL
> 
> It’s late for you now, go to sleep. Stay in contact. A
> 
> I never thought you were the mother hen type. WL
> 
> Funny. Will see if you’re going to be as cheerful after weeks of borsht. A
> 
> Any last message before we cut the communication? A
> 
> Tell him that… he’s in my mind. Always. WL
> 
> No, this is too much. We even never talked about… things. He must hate me, I've been so blind. WL
> 
> Don't say that... A 
> 
> No. No message. WL
> 
> (user has disconnected)

John was relieved to know that only a hour ago, Sherlock was alive and well and ready to go to sleep even if the worst is on his way. _But what's all about... How could he think that I hate him?_ “It’s not fair! I want to talk to him! I can’t stay here… doing nothing! While he… he’s risking everything! I’m not a fool, I know that Moriarty's associates are not choir boys!”

“There’s something you, and only you, can do doctor Watson…” He extends a hand to point to the lunch that was waiting on a table in a corner. “Let’s eat something, starving yourself won’t help him, and I will explain everything…”

                 

A few hours later, after a quick shower and a shave, John was feeling slightly better. The soldier in him satisfied to have a plan to follow, and a part to play in the power play against the now dead criminal mastermind's network. He knows that in her next conversation with Sherlock, Holmes explained how Sherlock asked his assistant to be his handler on that mission, Anthea is going to express John's indestructible love and his desire to talk to him. 

Back in the car with Mycroft Holmes, John was still mad at Sherlock's brother for the decisions that he had made so long ago.  _The bastard change both of their lives for the worse! Lying and lying again… How is it possible for him to sleep at night?_ _And to think that somewhere a poor soul was attached to him!_ His wool-gathering was interrupted by the man himself.

“Are you 100% you’re able to pull this off, Doctor Watson?”

“What? Lying to a friend?” With a last look at Mycroft Holmes, John sneers derisively while exiting the car, “I may not be as good as you at the lying part… But as you don’t have any friends how could I know?”

Turning away as he closes the door with a little more force than necessary, John walks to Greg’s door and knocks a couple of times before Greg appears. He was in a horrible state, eyes red from crying, rumpled clothes, a strong odour of alcohol… He seems so lost and alone that John’s heart breaks a little. _Poor man, could have been me if I wasn’t aware that Sherlock is alive. Please forgive me mate, for what I’m going to do!_ With a deeply sad smile that wasn't fake, the doctor stands in the moonlight in front of the DI front door and simply asks,“Greg, may I come in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this his over 40k! And I'm so not done... 
> 
> And.... TGIF!


	20. Sherlock Holmes' Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is going to Greg's place to make sure that he's ok and, if possible, enroll him!

Greg was looking at John without pity, but with a great deal of sympathy and affection. _He’s freshly showered and with clean clothes, that’s good. But God, how he looks knackered!_ “John… I… I… Come in, please.” Narrowing his eyes at Sally, who was still in a car in front of his building as if Greg needed a sitter, he moves to the left to let the doctor in. After he closes the door, he rushes in the sitting room to straighten it a bit. He worked all day long on what he was calling the _Sherlock Holmes’ case_ and had left all the empties bottles on the table. “Sorry about that… Last night… was a rough night.”

With a sad smile, John says, “… I know.”  

“Oh shit, mate! I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean. It’s nothing compare to how you are feeling right now.” He bins the bottles in the recycling bin, then picked up the glasses and placed them in the sink. “We can have a drink later if you want… I’m making tea now, okay?”

“Yes, tea is perfect…” John was standing near the kitchen table, reading the labels on Greg’s many files. _Sherlock cases pre-JW; Sherlock cases post-JW; Meetings with MH; JW blogs; Articles – Sherlock; Articles – Moriarty…_ Everything was freshly printed, done in one sitting. _What's all this… Is Greg planning something on his own or his doing some stuff for the Met._ The idea that a man he considers a friend could be trying to frame Sherlock was hurting like hell! _Stop this Watson! This is_ _what_ _Moriarty wanted! To trouble our mind..._ “Greg… What’s all this?”

“What?” Realising that the files were still on the table, Greg rushes to put them away. “Nothing… I was just tidying up some old stuff…” Once the manila folders are hidden away in his bedroom he went back to making tea, unaware of the hurt look on John’s face.

“Greg, who do you think I am?” The doctor was frowning, looking at the now empty table. “I may be not as astute as Sherlock… _was_ .” _God, I nearly slipped ! I must be careful._ “but I am certainly not an idiot!” 

“I know… Shit… I know!” Greg places the mugs on the table as he sits, gesturing John to do the same. “It’s just that, I do not want to trouble you with… silly things.” The DI sighs tiringly, looking at his tea, searching the right words. _The poor man is in distressed enough without bringing him in my cock and bull chase._ Suddenly realizing how upset John was, Greg places his hand on his shoulder. “John… Mate… Don’t fuss over this… It’s just that I wanted to keep a copy of the files in case something new comes up. Got the feeling that the Met may want to clean sweep everything under the rug... It’s kind of a security blanket. Nothing more.” 

 

The doctor, relieved by the reasons Greg has given, breathes easier for the first time in a day. _Okay, so it’s all his own doing, nothing to do with Met internal affairs… Maybe it’s going to be easier that I thought._ He was to ask Greg what his plan was, but he remembered just in time that he was supposed to be mourning, not creating a cunning battle plan! _It’s hard to lie to him, but it’s the best for now. And, in fact, it’s not realllllly lying as Sherlock is clearly not safe at the moment!_ Thinking about his soulmate alone a thousand kilometers away from him brought back his sadness as well as his anger and it was with a softer voice full of emotion and tears in his eyes that John uses to speak to his friend again. “I can understand… The need to do something, to stop thinking. I... I slept right after… after… yesterday.. Mycroft's... people gave me a bit of a sedative...” _More than enough to put down a horse, but he does not need to know that!_ Mycroft's voice was resonating in his head. _You can say what you want except the fact that Sherlock is alive! If you want to discuss your bond with my brother you can… But keep everything simple and under the principle of ‘need to know’ basis as far as possible._ “Mycroft, he was with me for most of the day, we went back to Baker Street to get a few things for me as well as Sherlock’s… security box.”

“He told me yesterday that Ms. Hudson was away to be certain that she wouldn’t be harassed by reporters. I am ashamed but… I didn’t check the status on Barker Street today. Is it that bad?” 

Not responding to Greg, John asks, “you talked with Mycroft? About what?” _The bastard never told me that he talked with Lestrade!_

“Nothing really… It’s just that I, oh God, it looks silly now but, John I’m so sorry…” At John's questioning glance, Greg continues in a murmur. “I was so certain that it was a scam… A stunt for a reason or another. It was impossible, that Sherlock had died in that stupid STUPID way!” Remembering that he was talking about Sherlock, the man John’s had probably loved, the detective recovers quickly. “So, I needed to talk to Mycroft to be certain that it was real… And I was looking for you also.” Closing his eyes a minute, a flash of the older Holmes with red eyes and clearly in distress pops in his mind. “I was also concerned about Mycroft, I know he’s a really private man and if what Sherlock told us is true, that he has no friends, the idea of him being alone in his big house after the loss of the person that was the closest to him was oddly intolerable to me.”

“And what did he say?” 

“That, of course, it was real… That you were away for the moment to keep you far from a press frenzy.” He smiles sadly. “And that he and his family do not need sympathy from the Met.”

“Oh… That’s...”

“No John, he was right. We exploited Sherlock's qualities for our own uses, and we let him down when he needed us the most.” As John was opening his mouth to protest, Greg shakes his head. “No… Don’t say anything. I know that I personally didn’t try hard enough. That I didn’t go into battle to protect him… I let him down, and for that I will be ashamed for the rest of my life.” He sips at his tea, looking into the hot liquid as if it was the answer to everything. “I could have done more, I could have been a better friend… I let him down.” He sniffles and straights himself. “Sorry, again, you didn’t come here so I can add to your mourning.”

“It’s okay Greg, don’t worry. It’s doing me good to talk about him and to know that… you aren’t one of those who still believe that he's a criminal and a liar.” Putting down his tea, John summoned up a resolute look. “I know that I should been crying and drinking and whatever… but right now I am just mad. Mad at the Met because he’s no longer with me because that bloody criminal played you all like fucking toy soldiers! Mad at Moriarty because Sherlock suffered alone, not knowing what to do and that the only solution that he saw was to jump from that building!” John was shaking, each word true to his feelings. _If there's one thing that I learned from Sherlock, is to a lie is most believable wrapped in the truth!_ “I’m mad at me because I never add the courage to tell him how much I… I… bloody loved him!” As Greg’s face turns to astonishment at John openness, John repeats himself. “Yes, I loved him, I love him still and I will for the rest of my life! I will NEVER love another!” 

“John… you are grieving… don’t say things like that. I know it’s early but… I’m certain that Sherlock wouldn’t want you to...”

A feel of relief spreads in the blond man as he talks, knowing that he can finally confide in Greg “No, you don’t understand… I will never wish for anyone else because… he’s my soulmate.” 

“What? But… How is it possible? A few weeks after you met I had my doubts but… as months and years passed…” Greg was looking at John with perplexity. 

“How? What gave you a hint that it was a possibility?” John was honestly curious, eager to learn more about his soulmate.

“When I learned that you were shot in the shoulder. I didn’t know the exact date, but it was so similar that…” Greg was pensive, trying to remember the date when Sherlock fainted in the pub.

“What happened, please, I want to know…” John was nearly pleading, wanting to have as much connection as possible with Sherlock. Something precise, exact, real. 

“We were out to celebrate the end of a case…” The DI, feeling that it was important for his friend, turned on his phone to check the date when they arrested the murderer of the White Lane case. “Sherlock was with us. It was really exceptional, I remember that persuading him to come with us was hard! We drank and we were all quite wasted, Sherlock included.”

John utters, in shock. “What happened to Sherlock?” He was shaking, the idea of confirming with the ultimate proof that it was true was the next best thing to have Sherlock near him!

“Sherlock said that he was feeling weird, anxious for no reason at all… We talk about it later and he brushed it off by saying the he wasn’t used to being drunk.” Greg laughed lightly, thinking how flimsy the excuses were for an ex-junkie. “He rose to pick up a glass pitcher full of water when suddenly a violent shock passed thru his shoulder… The pitcher fell on the floor. Then, I caught Sherlock just before he falls on the floor amongst the broken glass.” _Ah! Got it!_ “It was in 2005, in May…” 

“A Sunday. May 8 th  , early in the evening, London time.” John completes with a passionate voice. 

“Yes… Oh My God, John… This is surreal! Sherlock was brought to a posh hospital by his brother and, aside from one other time a few weeks after, we never talked about it.”

John was white as a sheet. _Mycroft knew… Of course, this is how he knew! He was waiting for Sherlock to meet someone with a severe shoulder injury! Now it’s not the time, but fuck!_

“Are you all right John?” _This is true then, this is worse than everything that I could have imagine. Losing a friend, a best friend, a potential lover is something horrible, but losing a soulmate in this manner…_ “You know, I never really talk about it but I had a soulmate and… I lost her before we ever got to meet. It left a void in my life, I tried with another one but you know how it ended. If you need to talk, I’ll always be there, mate." 

 

Something in Greg story brought a crazy idea in John mind, but he quickly pushes it away. _Life can’t be THAT crazy! Even if fate sometimes has a way to… Okay, now is not the time, back to the plan now._ “Thanks Greg, I know that you are here for me. This is why I’m at your place  tonight. I need to talk to you about something…” 

“What? Anything!”

“Now that you know my situation, you’ll understand that I won’t be able to mourn and rest until my soulmate's name is cleared.” With a steadfast stance, John look in Greg’s eyes. “I need your help to prove that he was innocent of any of the charges against him.” Turning his gaze toward the bedroom where the DI placed his files an hour before, he adds “… and I got the feeling that you know where to start!”

Knowing that Mycroft won’t let anything happen to anyone who helps Sherlock, John nods gravely after he let go of Greg. “We are alone for now, but I think that many people never believed all those lies.” The last word was interrupted by the doorbell.

Angrily rushing to the door, Greg curses loudly “If it’s Donovan again, I swear that…” but, at his astonishment, it wasn’t Sally Donovan, but Philip Anderson. “Anderson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“You haven’t replied to my texts!" The ME was frantic. "I’m certain that we were played by Jim Moriarty… He was real!" Looking over his shoulder, as if he was scared to be heard by someone else, he murmurs, "I thought seriously about that because it doesn’t fit the profile! Egomaniacs don’t go and just kill themselves like that!” He gently pushes Greg inside and close the door as a furious Sally Donovan was getting out of her car. “I don’t know everything like _him,_ but I consulted a specialist! And you know… I am not alone in thinking that this story is…" Finally spotting John who was still standing in the kitchen, Anderson beams "Oh good! Doctor Watson is here, too!” Taking out his phone, he opens it to a web page and turns it for Lestrade and John to see. “Look at this!”

It was the Twitter What’s trending page. Number one, two and three in UK…

> #IBelieveInSherlockHolmes
> 
> #MoriartyWasReal
> 
> #SherlockHolmesArmy

The three men look at each other with determination, knowing that they have a network of believers spreading across the country, ready to help them. 

_Yes,_ John thought _, we will be able to clear out Sherlock’s name long before he returns._

__Sherlock Holmes' Army._ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes' Army, a tribute at Dumbledore Army of course :-)
> 
> It's going to be a little longer before next chapter, hectic week, sorry!  
> \- Morgane


	21. It only took 2 minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock...

Sherlock was alone in the sordid room, the man in charge finally getting back to his porn magazine that was waiting for him in his office. _It’s really a decrepit place… worse than my Montague Street flat_ , Sherlock smirks. Most importantly, the detective was under the radar, even from the criminals, and had been provided the address of what the Russian called a ‘decent dealer that sold unusual items’.  Needing to get this done as soon as possible, he places his gun in the small of his back, an SIG Sauer P226, and walks out of the room. Feeling the weight of the army issued gun - exactly like John's SIG – Sherlock allows himself a smirk of satisfaction knowing that Moriarty had the model of the gun wrong at the pool... A bit calmer, he allowed his mind to wander a bit.

 

_It’s still early in London, I can’t believe it’s been only what… 14 hours? John is still sedated… I need to get there before he... before._

Fortunately for him, the dealer was in the same shitty neighbourhood. _Two corners down then turn right on the first street._ The streets were nearly empty, no one was paying attention to anyone… which was perfect. Once he was in the little street, he spots the black door with a little scorpion painted on it. _Ohhhh. A scorpion…_ he thinks sarcastically, _criminals are so imaginative_. He knocks on the door and an old man slightly opens the door and asks what he wants. Adding a distinctive Ukrainian accent to his posh Russian Sherlock asks for what he needs, showing American dollars.   

The man, frowning, opens the door enough to allow the passage, muttering to himself. “They are young, and they think that everything is hard… pfff… when you have the chance to have a soulmate you keep it even if you have a little domestic! And if you haven’t found her, you keep searching! Suppressant! pfff I don’t know why we keep that blasted thing. I lost my wife years ago, and do I take that poison or any other thing to forget her? No! I will honour her by suffering her loss each day for the rest of my life…”

Sherlock smiles sadly at the old man rambling… _I will honour John the best way I can by limiting the amount of suffering he will have to deal with because of my mission. He can’t… He can’t be in my head, in my heart, in my soul presently. I need to know that he won’t suffer from my actions. That he won’t be disgusted by all this… That he will still love me... after._

The dealer stops at a second door. Turning an old key, he reveals a small room full all kind of drugs. Closing his eyes, Sherlock felt a rush going through is body, a craving tamed a few years ago spreading anew in his mind. Closing his shaking hands, he summons the picture of John… The doctor's look of fondness and trust giving him the will to push away the desire for anything... recreational. _No more, not ever and certainly not now!_   The old man took a little bottle from a shelf and put it on the countertop, looking in Sherlock eyes. “It doesn’t work with the same efficiency for everyone. But mostly, if she’s still alive, you will still feel mostly everything, but your perception is going to be dimmed… muffled… and she won’t be able to feel you at all. It’s going to cut the communication between you two.” He pushes the pills in direction of Sherlock…  “Are you 100% certain, son?”  

Sherlock took the pills and put the money on the table, leaving the man among his deadly drugs. 

 

Once back in his room, he quickly took 2 pills. _The sooner, the better…_ And he went to sleep few hours on top of his bed with his gun under his pillow and John's picture in his hand.  He needs to be in shape for...  tonight.

His alarm wakes him up at 6PM. First, he contacts Anthea to let her know that everything was fine and that he was in Saratov. Guilt spreads inside him, he should have contacted Anthea hours ago, but he was waiting for the suppressant to work. Not wanting to be vulnerable when receiving news about John. _It’s better like that…_ After the quick conversation when his brother's PA tried to push him to talk with his soulmate – of course! - he quickly took a shower in the pathetic in-suite bathroom. 

While he was drying off, a song popped into his head. A somewhat familiar singer… The lyrics were so fitting to his mindset. _Madness all around, no sunshine here…I need oblivion, give me oblivion… I don’t know what's worse, that you did, or you didn’t… I can’t seem to figure out who’s the hunter and who’s the hunted. I don’t know what’s best, I lose either way. Never mind, it's cool, I'll disappear. I will surely one day run out of tears… Tell me what went through your mind that day, you left a scar you can’t take away… You switched all the rules, that I was doomed to play…_

He knows it was about a lover's quarrel, but it so matched his actual relationship with his brother that he nearly sends him a link to the song.   _It’s so easy to express sentiment with a song… Better to send a song that a simple ‘I bloody hate you right now!’. But simplicity has its merit._ When the moment came, before leaving, he texts Anthea again.

> Going off to my first client. WL
> 
> Please remind your boss that I’m hating him. WL
> 
> And that I’m not planning to stop. WL
> 
> Good night. WL

Closing it before he receives any replies, he puts on his dark clothes and leaves the hotel. It was around midnight.

 

_An hour later… _

The night was dark as Sherlock runs into a dark alley, his heart pounding in his chest.  Knowing that he only has a few minutes before someone comes for him, he closes his eyes, trying to stop the tremors in his hands. The gun and the silencer were once more hide in the small of his back, but warm this time… Unable to control a wave of nausea, he throws up violently. _Come on Sherlock, get it together!_  The last few minutes flash under his eyes as he was unable to push the panic away.  

> He was walking in the night, avoiding the city lights when possible. Turning, circling around the place where he needs to be. A clandestine casino, controlled by the Russian mafia. His target, Moriarty's contact close to the mob, played there every night while he was conducting his business. The report Sherlock had read was positive that the man was the link to destroy that part of the mastermind web.  _The spider-in-chief for the region_. The mission was simple, getting inside the casino as discreetly as possible, kill the man by any means, then get out. To ensure that his mission will run smoothly, it was better to be certain to not build fear in Moriarty's r ank and to make it look like a robbery or an execution by a rival. 
> 
> Sherlock’s Cartesian mind knew that man was a menace. To John, to his friends, to the youths who are buying his cheap drugs… He was repeating in his head, like a mantra, _he deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it…_ Sherlock skilfully opens a hidden door that leads him inside the casino where he quickly spots the door that separates the ‘ordinary’ players from the others.  Using a dirty kitchen cloth and a tray as props, he quickly starts to clean the tables until he was close to his target. Everything went quickly: With the pummel of his gun, he knocks out the guard and penetrates the room where he shoots his target as well as his bodyguards before running outside exiting through the door he had used to enter the place with a bag full of money in his hand.

Leaning against the wall, Sherlock pushes the tears from his eyes, pulls off a calm face and walks back to the hotel while is Mind Palace shifted to allow place to his new memory. 

_It only took 2 minutes._

_In 2 minutes I became a killer._

 

 

 *

Jason Bajada: [What’s Worse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fAawfPLfR4)

 *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know... Sorry about that :-( 
> 
> But... but... Even if I screamed "Don't do it! Don't do it!" Fictional characters tend to do as they wish... 
> 
> What are you thought? Let me know!


	22. Everything is under control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft, after he left John at Greg's place.

The car left Greg’s street as soon as John was inside. Anthea, who remained silent while the doctor was with them, finally looked over her Blackberry. “I don’t want to intrude in your strategy, but are you certain about this, Sir?”

“The only goal I have right now, Anthea, is to keep my brother alive while I mend his reputation. And to achieve the second, I need John Watson and Gregory Lestrade to help.”

“And to keep him alive?” Anthea looked worryingly at her phone, anxious as Sherlock didn’t contact her since he told her that he was leaving for his first mission.

“I’m sorry to say… that he’s mostly alone on this one,” Mycroft rises his head and smiles sadly at his PA “…with the exception of you, my dear.”

“And what about… mending your relationship with him?” Anthea asks, innocently raising an eyebrow. Sherlock's last text was still glowing on her phone. _Please remind your boss that I hate him._

With a severe look, Holmes chides the young woman. “Don’t push your luck, I’m not paying you to interfere in my personal business.”  

“I have to take care _personally_ of your brother because of your _personal_ business… If I may object, sir.”

Sighing and putting his head in his hands for half of a second, Mycroft murmurs to himself, “I’ve really screwed up everything…” before turning his gaze to the passing lights. Anthea, knowing that it wasn’t the time to antagonize her boss, remains silent. She knows that there is something that he hasn’t told her, something that his brother probably doesn’t know. Something big. Even though she had worked closely with him for years, Mycroft Holmes is still a mystery to her. Once the car pulls up in front of her flat, she asks softly, “everything is all right, Sir? Will you need me for anything?”

“No… no…“ _No one can help me anyway…_ “It’s nice of you to ask.” He turns to look at a woman he considered the closest thing he has to a friend, “Thank you sincerely, Anthea, for all of your hard work. I’m sorry, I know that my… situation… with Sherlock gives you more work and…”

“No need to apologize, Sir, I’m happy to help and we all want your brother to came back home safely. You know that we don’t have the choice because he will know if you use my phone to try to text him… I don’t know how, but he’ll know.” She chuckles, knowing that Mycroft would be unable to copy the light banter she always uses with Sherlock. “Do you want me to relay automatically any texts that I receive from him to your phone?”

“Better not… He's always been able to speak more freely with you and I don’t want to him to find out that I’m spying on him further. Just let me know when he contacts you, and don’t edit any criticisms towards me… it’s fine… I… I deserve it.”

“Mr. Holmes… Mycroft…”  
  
Closing himself once more, Holmes took out his phone and starts to check his mail. “Good night, Anthea.”

“Good night, Sir.”

 

The car leaves the modern building where Anthea lived to return to Kensington where Mycroft has his flat. _I will be finally alone soon…_ _That day was horrible._ But the voice of Simpson brings him back from his reverie.

“Sir, I’ve been informed by Maxwell that Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are waiting for you at your place.”

With a groan, Mycroft thanks his chauffeur while he lays his head back against the head rest and closes his eyes for a few minutes. _Shit._

 

 _"_ Mycroft!” Mrs. Holmes falls into her son's arms as soon as he enters the lobby of his flat. “How are you with all this terrible affair?”

Taking the opportunity of his father's extended hand, he distances himself from his mother.  “I’m all right, Mummy, I’m trying to keep everything under control as far as possible.” He shakes hands with his father. “Papa. I hope the trip wasn’t too… ” but he was interrupts by a slap on his shoulder. “Mommy!”

Mrs. Holmes, now certain that her older son wasn’t harmed, was furious. “I don’t know everything, but I’m certain that you are involved in all this, Mycroft!” Pointing an angry finger, she adds, “you can’t use Sherlock in your political game! He’s your little brother, your responsibility!”

Already uncustomary dumbstruck by the last twenty-four hours, the government mystery man was unable to reply and pales, placing his shaking hand in his trouser pocket. _I need peace and a whisky.  God! I have needed one since this morning! I can’t get the first, but I can certainly get the second!_ Turning on his heel, he walks into his living room where he took out his finest bottle. “Papa?”

“Yes,” he sighs “definitely. Violet? Do you want something?”

Clearly flustered at the thought of his little boy alone who knows where, threatened by who knows what or whom, she nods before falling onto a settee. “Red wine, honey, thanks.” Looking at his son, she tries to figure out what he was thinking… but as usual, he was able to hide his thoughts, his feelings. _I’ve always been harder on him, but he’s never affected by anything!_ “Mycroft… I’m sorry. I know that you are doing your best to protect your brother in his present… predicament. And that you did so countless time when he was… not well.” She thanks her husband with warm eyes when he gives her a glass of Merlot, putting her hand on his forearm to absorb his calm, his strength. “Other than holding up our ends of this charade, can we do anything to help him?” _To help you… How is it possible for both my sons to be so alone, when we are soulmates! Chance was on their side… This is so sad…_ Thinking about that situation, brought a thought to his mind. “Sherlock’s friend, that nice doctor, John, how is he?” She sips her wine slowly before asking softly “Does he know about… the ruse?”

“Yes, he saw through the trick…  He’s a doctor after all." With a chuckle, Mycroft continues "don’t worry about him, he’s not crying alone somewhere…”

“Oh! But if he realizes that it was a scam maybe those criminals that are after Sherlock will as well!” She was becoming frantic as she places her glass on the table and gets up as if she was able to do something about the situation. “You must do something about this! Sherlock is not safe!”

“Violet, stay calm my darling…” Mr. Holmes was trying to sooth his soulmate by caressing her back slowly, keeping constant contact.  "Mycroft knows what he is doing. Right, son?”

“Yes, Papa, I promise I’m doing everything that is possible…” Mycroft nearly chokes on his words, knowing that even with all his power, he couldn’t help his brother that much.

“But if John found out about this…“ Mrs. Holmes was now crying in her husband's arms.

“Mummy… It’s not the same…” The headache that was lingering since the morning was now well on its way, aided by the alcohol and his mother's sobbing.

But she wasn’t listening. “… I’m certain that John Watson is a good man but…”

“It won’t happen, Mummy, no one will find out. We’ve been careful.” Mycroft says, trying to stop his mother's dramatic meltdown.

“A doctor… but with probably only a little over average intelligence… Sherlock has no chance if those criminals also realize that he’s alive!”

Exasperated, Mycroft shouts “HE’S HIS SOULMATE! THAT'S WHY HE FOUND OUT!” before leaving the living room to take the stairs up to the first floor muttering. “I’m going to check on your bedroom, it’s late.”

“MYCROFT HOLMES! Come back here and explain yourself!” His father unusually stern tone stops his son on the middle of the stair. Retracing his steps, he enters the room once more before collapsing into a comfy chair after he replenished his drink.

“Got nothing to say... really… it was a mistake that’s all.” _My mistake… but I don’t have the strength to discuss this right now._ “Sherlock is in reality a gifted and they figured it out yesterday when Sherlock… jumped.” He took one big gulp of his whisky, not looking in his parents’ eyes. “Sherlock, probably honest with himself for the first time, said that he felt John's distress then his happiness... Later on John said to me that he was overwhelmed by joy after he realized that the link between them wasn’t broken and that, therefore Sherlock must be alive.”

“So John knew that…” His mother asks, attentively, looking for the flaws in her son's story.

“Yes, he realized the first time he met Sherlock. But my brother didn’t, it happen sometimes.” _I can’t stop lying! I need them on my side right now…_

Forgetting all the comments she made upon John middleclass intelligence, Violet was now beaming. “Oh… My boy, a gifted! His soul linked to a great doctor, an army hero!” She took her glass of wine and drank a bit, her eyes sparkling with joy. “I saw his picture in the paper, he’s a good-looking man. A little short for our Sherlock, but they do go well together, don't they, honey!” Turning to her son, she asked “I want to see him tomorrow!” With a soft smile, she kisses her oldest son – patting him like a child – before leaving for their bedroom, her younger son's dangerous situation leaving her mind for the first time in the last days.

Mr. Holmes steps closer to Mycroft “Good night, son.” He places a large hand on the younger man's shoulder.“As Sherlock is no longer alone and that someone is there to take care of him, I wish you’ll find happiness when all this is over… Time to think about yourself…”

 

Now alone, Mycroft switches off the lights and checks the security system before going to his bedroom.  Once the door is locked, he allowed the tears he pushed away all day long to flow freely down his cheeks, his father’s words ringing in his hears.

 _Happiness,_ he sniggers sadly _, as if!_

 

 


	23. Mummy is quite excited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip apologies... And, meeting the in-laws!

In the wee hours of the morning, John was on his way to Mycroft's flat as Baker Street was still flooded with journalists, thinking about the night he just had. _It’s surreal! Greg, Anderson… no Philip_ , he corrects, _and me… planning a coup against Moriarty's last men in England as well as trying to salvage Sherlock's reputation! With the silent contribution of Mycroft Holmes!_ He chuckles at the image of an overexcited Philip, his guilt over the debacle perhaps contributing to his eagerness to help. _He’s feeling so guilty…_ The look the MET forensics officer was giving John when he thought he wasn’t looking was heart-breaking. After a few hours of planning and theorizing – some legit, while others were completely out of this world – Greg left them for a shower and a power nap. Anderson jumped on the opportunity to talk to him alone.  

John smiles at the memory, _if Sherlock could have seen Anderson, I nearly wish that Mycroft had a camera somewhere…_

> John had just made the umpteenth pot of tea and carried it to table with a plate of biscuits. Sitting with a sigh, he was trying to make sense of everything that was spread in front of him when suddenly Anderson moved to  sit near him. “Is there something…?”
> 
> “Yes… Doctor Watson… John… I… I just need to say something… Please… I….” Despise the hesitation, his tone was full of resolution, yet anxiety was clearly visible in his demeanour.
> 
> “Hey Anderson… Philip… Breathe, it’s ok. What do you want to say?” John thought he knew what it was all about, simply an apology for his role in Sherlock's fall from grace at the Met. Staying silent, waiting for Philip to continue, John was tranquilly drinking his tea.
> 
> “First… I want to say how sorry I am.” Phillip finally utters, out of breath. “In fact, sorry is not strong enough…” He was looking at his shaking hands, not knowing if he was strong enough to see the look of disgust he was imagining on John’s face for his risible attempts. “The way we… no, I can only speak for myself; the way that **I** treated Sherlock will haunt me until my last day. To think that my jealousy towards his talent, how I was not able to realize that his taunting and sharp attacks were only a way to disguise his own issues... I... ”
> 
> John interrupts. “Don’t turn him in a saint, Philip, he’s… he was, a pain in the arse sometimes and he said things that he shouldn’t have numerous times… His arrogance and” but Philip interrupted the doctor, not letting him minimize his guilt for the detective's suicide.
> 
> “Yes, yes, I know… But don’t you see? He was so alone before, with only drugs to occupy his restless mind, and he was so happy those first cases that he worked with us. You weren’t there at the time… It was as if he found his calling.” Philip smiles at the reminiscence. “The first few times when he came back sober, I remembered it like it was yesterday, he was so enthusiastic to have a second chance to work on a crime scene. But… Instead of welcoming him like the gift he was, we were all so quickly on the defensive. Of course, for us he was simply an ex-junkie…  We were asking ourselves, ‘Who’s pushing the boss to allow him on our crime scene!’ But he blew us away! You know how he… was?” Anderson voice broke a little, and John was suddenly finding very hard to stay silent about his love being alive. “Seeing him at work was magnificent but so frightening! His lack of respect for the rules, his unorthodox methods, he was a one-man show…” Philip's eyes were still showing amazement when he continues, “...his ability to take samples and analyse them as well as deducing a crime scene and running after a criminal like his life didn’t matter… It was frightening.” He repeats, reverently. “Maddening... And even without a word from him against us, our flaws were showing. We weren't good enough. And instead of learning from him, of working with him..." John made an incredulous face. "Don't look at me like that John! It's possible! You've done it! But no... we called him 'freak', we bickered...”  
> 
> “Philip… you don’t have to explain any of the actions you’ve taken in the past. Your presence here, with us, is sufficient proof that you seriously think that you misjudged him.” Raising his hands in incomprehension, he continues with a chuckle. “For God sakes, even Greg believed Moriarty was a lie for a time!”  
> 
> “BECAUSE OF US! He fought so hard against Donovan and me, you’ve no idea… But an idea…”
> 
> “You can’t kill an idea… Not once it’s made a home in someone's head.” John whispered, thinking of the words Sherlock said to Lestrade not even three days ago.
> 
> “Yes… exactly. And this is why it’s our fault...” Philip looks at John in his eyes. “And this is why I want to apologise and avenge his memory while making sure that Moriarty's web is completely destroyed.”
> 
> “We will, Philip, we will…”

The light vibration of his phone brings John back into the present. It was a text from Mycroft.

> As I know that you’re on your way, I just want to warn you that my parents arrived yesterday and that they are staying at my place for now. MH
> 
> I am sorry, but they know about your bond. MH
> 
> It wasn’t really a secret… What did they say? JW
> 
> Let say that... Mummy is quite excited. MH
> 
> Did you have a fruitful meeting? MH
> 
> Yes, I will explain everything to you as soon as I’ve slept a few hours… JW
> 
> Are you still at home? I would like to speak to you a little to get the last news. JW
> 
> Yes, of course. I will check with Anthea to see if anything came up. MH
> 
> I should be there in 5 minutes. JW
> 
> Perfect. MH

Before putting away his phone, John quickly left a message at his mom to tell her that he was all right, that Sherlock's family were around him and that he will come to see her as soon as possible… _Having to lie to my mother is the worst… She knows how much I longed for Sherlock… How much I suffered from his apparent indifference… Thank God she was visiting a friend in Scotland for the week!_ Her voice mail when she finally learned of Sherlock suicide was still engraved in his head.  

 

> “John… Oh John… I am so so so sorry… Pick up the phone, please.  I need to talk to you. I called so many times but your phone is dead... A man called me, he said that he was Sherlock's brother, and told me that you fainted and are well cared for in a private hospital.” The voice pauses, as a sob escaped his mother lips “Son, I am so sad, you were going there, I was so certain that Sherlock was going to… And now I can’t be with you! Call me, please, call me!”

John spoke to her yesterday, under Mycroft's watchful eye, of course. He said that he was taking pills to stay calm, that presently he was more focused on finding proof that Sherlock was innocent and that he wasn’t in the ‘grieving’ stage yet. Exactly the same lies he told Greg and Philip. Shame spread in his mind at the idea that he voluntarily lied to his mother, a woman that supported his quest in his search for his soulmate as well as calm his doubts and distress when he finally found Sherlock. _Yes, that’s the worst… She’s suffering so much on my behalf since Sherlock's ‘suicide’…_

Suddenly, the car stops in front of a town house in Kensington. John looks, curious. It was a cream and white building, with marble tiles. _Similar to Irene Adler's house in a way…_   The only difference was that a little path on the front allowed a car to park if needed as well as giving the space needed to put up a fence with a camera. _The street was also particularly well furnished with CCTV_ , John thought with a smirk. Once he was up the few steps, the door was opened by Mycroft himself. 

“Come in John, thank you, Simpson. I will leave for the office in one hour.” Once the doctor was inside, Mycroft closed the door and murmured, "My parents are still in their room, if you don’t mind we could talk in your bedroom… It will be more disc…”

“Mycroft!” The voice of Mrs. Holmes resonated in the hall, “is that Doctor Watson?” 

Sherlock's brother was trying to shield John from his mother, when John chuckled, “It’s okay, I can speak to her for a few minutes. Then I want to talk to you about any news you have on Sherlock from the last time we spoke. Later this afternoon, I can come to your office if you want, to discussed what we come up with last night." John was feeling selfish to postpone anything that can help Sherlock... but he needs few hours of sleep otherwise...

“Perfect, yes. I'll sent Simpson at 2pm. But for now... Our mother can be…”

“She’s a mother. I am currently deceiving my own, I will not do the same to yours. If talking to me few minutes helps her having a better day, it’s ok. Anyway, I won’t be able to say that much as I have not much to say and, anyway, I really must sleep few hours or I’m going to fall asleep where I stand…” 

With a nearly appreciative smile, Mycroft motions John towards the kitchen calling his parents at the same time. “If you want to talk to John, you’ve got 10 minutes! We need to talk about things and the poor man is going to pass out on the nearest sofa if he’s not in bed within the next hour!”

“We’re coming! Don’t be so grumpy!” Mrs. Holmes replies without rancour. 

  

A few minutes later, the Holmes – still in night clothes – sit on the kitchen breakfast nook where a big pot of tea with all the fixing was already waiting. As Mrs. Holmes was looking at John with sparkling eyes, but not saying a word, Mr. Holmes pressed his hand over her smaller one with a smile. “Love, they have things to talk through later, and, sorry, Doctor Watson, but you do look completely knackered. So… If you want to talk, the time is now, love.”

Emerging from the dreamy state she had fallen into, on seeing John, Mrs. Hudson smiles. Tears pool at the edge of John’s eyes, the vision of the two people who created the exquisite complex human that his soulmate was, shook him to the core.

“Yes, it can do that sometimes.” Mrs. Hudson replies to his unasked question. “I remember when I met my husband's parents… it was like having instantly a second set of parents.” She laughs as Mycroft rolls his eyes in exasperation. “My son here is probably thinking ‘poor man’…” She turns to her husband then looks back at John. “I don’t want to take much of your time, I know that the journey is not over… that more hardships are coming… that you didn’t have the time to settle your bonds, to learn the way.” Putting down her cup, she extends her hand to takes John’s. “I just want you to know that from now on… you’re family. That we don’t know you that much beside your blog – by the way, I could tell from your not too subtle subtext, that you loved our son,– and what’s in the paper (‘rubbish’ Mr. Holmes mutters) but we already love you like a son.” She was now crying. John turns towards Mycroft, worried. “Don’t mind those tears, my _sons_ , those are tears of joy!” She kisses her husband's cheek, acknowledging his gentle caress of her shoulder. “I was afraid that when he is away on his missions, Sherlock is going to lose his path again… so far from us… far from what kept him grounded over the last year.” She smiles, her eyes changing, as Sherlock's did when touched by a strong emotion. “I know that he has something to came back for now.” With a last squeeze of the doctor's hand, her tone turns hard. “Now, you two, go into Mycroft's office where I know Anthea is waiting patiently and go get my Sherlock back as quickly as possible while you tear the bastards who damaged his reputation to shreds. Go!"

With a determined nod, John rises and didn’t resist the urge of pressing the woman in his arms tightly, before following Mycroft to the back of the two-storey flat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to anyone who are still following, do not hesitate to say 'hi' or to simply copy/paste your favourite sentence. 
> 
> I do love to know what triggers an emotion or a laugh and if you are still there! :-)


	24. His promise is not yours to keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going back to mixing the story line. In this chapter, a little bit of Sherlock as he deals with the aftermath of his first mission and readied himself for the next... And John found a little bit of his soulmate in Mycroft flat.

Opening the door to his room with trembling hands, Sherlock finally let go the breath he had been holding since he entered the building, afraid as he was going to meet someone in the corridors. Luckily, the hotel was quiet as the clients were either outside partying, doing something unsavoury, or in their beds, sleeping. His door closed and locked, he fell silently on the floor, the metal of the gun bruising his back. He quickly removes it and, choking, pushes it away from himself. Unable to stop the tears from running down his face, and hating himself for it, he closes his eyes.   _I can’t… I must control myself… God, or whatever, it’s my… the first on the list. I can’t react like this each time, it’s going to get worse. I must…_

Sobbing silently, his arms firmly around his torso to stop shaking, Sherlock was fighting with himself. His soul in turmoil against his mind. The logical side argued that the mobster was a really bad person, but his somehow gentle soul seemed unable to cope with his action.  _John…_ he calls noiselessly, _how could I go on without you_ … A memory of John killing the taxi driver that first night jolted him to the core. _He did it so easily, without a doubt… To save me. Simply to save me… I must be as brave as him… I must be a soldier…_ His resolve on the mend, exhausted, he was nearly asleep on the tattered carpet when the alarm on his watch rings. _What?...  Oh… The pills…_  Using the corner of the bed, he pulls himself up and walks to the bathroom on wobbly legs. Taking two pills quickly, he  collapses on the ancient bedspread, still in his clothes.

 

Noises in the corridor wake him late the next morning, around eleven. The nearly nine hours of sleep did him good, even if he startled awake a few times, and he quickly showered his long limbs using more force than necessary. The sensation of having soiled himself still lingers in his skin. Once outside of the bathroom, he puts the old kettle to use and makes a strong instant coffee. 

_One last thing now…_ Picking up his phone, he opens the text app where two concerned messages from Anthea, asking for news, were waiting.

> Don’t worry. I’m fine.  WL
> 
> The meeting went well. WL
> 
> Thank God, I was worried! A
> 
> Is everything really OK? A
> 
> Yes. I’m waiting for the confirmation for my lift. WL
> 
> Nothing else to say? A
> 
> No. WL
> 
> Give me something. A
> 
> I slept what can be considered a long time for me. I’m drinking coffee, one of those nifty Starbucks instant coffee. Not bad. WL
> 
> Did you eat anything? A
> 
> This morning? No. Not hungry. WL
> 
> You know that you need to eat… A
> 
> Yes, yes. I’ve got a few protein bars left. WL
> 
> I’ll pick up something more substantial later. WL
> 
> Ok. Anything else? A
> 
> Do you want to talk to YB? A
> 
> No. WL
> 
> And do you have any… messages that I can relay? A
> 
> I have one for you. A
> 
> (…)
> 
> (…)
> 
> What? WL
> 
> That he loves you without any restriction and boundaries and hope you come back as quickly as possible or, at least, will accept to talk to him. A
> 
> (…)
> 
> Oh, right… WL
> 
> Tel him that… I hope that he’s doing well and that he won’t do anything stupid. And, all that. Also. WL
> 
> Why would he do something stupid? A
> 
> Because he’s probably angry presently, and he always does stupid things when he’s angry. WL
> 
> But don’t say that to him, just check that he’s ok. WL
> 
> YB is checking him constantly already, don’t you trust him?  A
> 
> No. But don’t forget to remind him of his part of the bargain. WL
> 
> He’s doing everything in his power. I promise. A
> 
> His promise is not yours to keep. WL
> 
> (user has disconnected)

Closing his phone afterward, Sherlock opens the phone he used under his current alias and contacts the guy who organized his lift to go back toward Moscow. Once everything is settled, he quickly eats two bars with a second coffee and squats down to pick the gun that was still on the floor. Retrieving his cleaning kit, he sits at a little table and starts to dismantle and take care of his firearm. His mind focused and empty of anything that isn't the next target.

As Mrs. Holmes guessed, Anthea was effectively waiting in Mycroft home office, a big paper cup of fancy coffee in one hand and the other one glued to her Blackberry, looking over the discussion she had with Sherlock two hours ago.

“Doctor Watson, hope you are doing well this morning.” She smiles as her boss closes the door.

“John, please sit down.” Mycroft gestures towards one of the chair in front of his desk. _It has more personality than his real office_ , the doctor thinks as he looks around then sits in the comfy and surely pricey chair. A few pictures of a younger Sherlock bring a sad smile to his tired face… 

“Don’t worry John, we will bring him back as soon as possible.” The older Holmes murmurs, pressing a comforting hand on the ex-soldier's shoulder as he walks behind his desk. “Anthea received news, I know that’s what you want foremost, here is a copy.” Anthea, leaving her coffee on Mycroft's mahogany desk and not caring a fig about his frown, gives a print-out to John who avidly reads it. 

It was strange to read words that were so Sherlock, but so foreign at the same time. He chuckles at ‘ _he always does stupid things when he’s angry’_ and mutters “The git, he always underestimates me.” He looks at Anthea with a smile. “Thank you, it was important for me, for us, that you transmitted my message.” Knowing that it wasn’t possible to keep the papers, he gives them back to the PA. Looking at Mycroft, he asks, “She said that you are constantly watching over me, is this true?”

“Yes, I’ve made a promise, Doctor Watson, that I will protect DI Lestrade, Ms. Hudson and you. So, yes, I am always checking on you. Sorry for the intrusion, but it is needed at this time.” The government was clearly uneasy.

“But… What I don’t understand is why Sherlock is texting Anthea instead of you and why he clearly doesn’t want to talk to you. At all.” John wasn’t stupid, and he was perfectly able to imagine why his beloved doesn’t want to talk to his brother… _But I want to hear him say it!_

“As you probably already comprehend, my brother, didn’t take it well when he discovered my… omission.” 

“Your lies, you mean?” John interjects.

“…And, as it was to be expected, he does not want to talk to me for the moment.” Mycroft concludes without passing any remark on the doctor's interruption.

“So, currently he’s still in Saratov, his mission went well and he’s waiting his transport for his next… assignment.” John eyes went to a map on the office wall. “Care to elaborate? What’s next?” 

“We tried to keep everything as non-linear as possible, his next stop should be in Finland.” Anthea explains, not giving more details about what happen in Saratov – she knows nothing anyway apart that the man is dead – or what the plan is in Helsinki.

“But it’s time for you to go to bed Doctor Watson, John, the night has been fruitful and surely stressful, and there is nothing that can’t wait a few hours." Mycroft says. "I will show you to your room and I want you to consider this apartment as your temporary home until 221b is no longer invaded by reporters or longer if needed. Ms. Hudson is not due to return to London for a month, so no rush on that account.” He rises and opens the door of his office, motioning John to follow him up the stairs. On the landing, there are only four doors. Quickly, Mycroft points elegantly with his hand, his bedroom, the one permanently reserved for their parents, the one always available for Sherlock's use and the guest room. With a small smile, he opens the last door of the corridor – the one the most far away from his own – and pauses before entering. “I’ve put you in my brother’s room… If it’s all right with you.” As John nods numbly, Mycroft presses a hand on his shoulder once more before closing the door behind him to let him rest. _Yes, I think Sherlock would approve._ Suddenly feeling a little bit better, the government un-official walks back to the first floor where Anthea was waiting to go to the office. 

Alone for what seems the first time in the last days, since he was in his bedroom in Baker Street yesterday in fact, _Oh God… it was only yesterday! It feels like weeks…_ John sits in the bed and looks around him. The room was strangely so _Sherlock_ even if the décor and bedding were as plainly chic as the rest of the flat. _Upscale blandness_ , John smirks, missing the mismatched décor of 221b. But sparkles of Sherlock's time here, evidence if any was needed that Mycroft really loved his brother, were obvious all over the room. Removing his jumper as well as his socks and shoes, John stands in front of an elegant bookcase. _Chemistry, criminal history, a few books about who’s who in Britain, apiary manuals… Yes, Sherlock spent a lot of time here._ His Chemistry degree hung proudly on the wall, _with honours of course… bloody genius._ One wall was full of pictures, elegantly framed. Sherlock when he was a child, black curls everywhere, sometimes with his parents or Mycroft, but often alone. Alone near a lake, alone running in a field, alone reading a book in a nook. Little snapshots taken without the subject's awareness by his parents or a younger Mycroft.  So alone… _You are not alone now, my love, you will never be alone again._ Kissing his fingers, he presses his hand on the picture of an adolescent Sherlock in his college gear, a haunted look in his beautiful eyes.  _No, no longer alone._ Then, surrounded by the mementoes and tributes of Sherlock life, John fallsl asleep peacefully in the bed that had seen so many sleepless nights. His last thought was of his soulmate… 

Sherlock, nearly 4,000 kilometres away, was fully clothed and nearly ready to go. The gun, now clean and ready to use, was already tucked in the small of his back. His contact confirmed that he will wait for him at the bus station in 30 minutes, he has just enough time. With social media, Uber and all the other apps that connect people these days, it was easy to find a non obvious transport to go west. The disguise was simple, he’s going to be one of the English language teachers for a group of businessmen that are going on a commercial mission in Moscow, the deal was to help the businessmen practice their English while he was having a free ride back. _So easy… Anonymity in the multitude_ … Taking out his American passport and visa, he smiles as he practices a southern American accent. “Howdy! Do you have grits and a big fat steak!” He laughs and automatically calls “John! What do you think of …” before remembering that he was alone. _No, not alone,_ he rectifies as he presses his hand on John picture hidden in the lining of his breast pocket. 

After he puts in the coloured contact lenses that change his too bright eyes to a dark muddy brown, he puts the ‘do not disturb’ sign at the door, as he paid for the week it should give him some time, and goes out discreetly through  the back door of the hotel. 

_One step closer to home._


	25. And you forget something my dear…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Philip, still at the DI's flat, have a little conversation... Mycroft and Anthea left John for a well deserve few hours of sleep. Later, John finally communicates (as directly as possible!) with Sherlock. 
> 
> (And a really tiny-miny baby first step toward mystrade)

Greg rolls his eyes at his phone which was buzzing constantly, principally texts from the office, since he woke up.  His boss needs his final report on the whole affair, his teams needs direction at this time of uncertainty, the in-house therapist wants to know how he’s doing…  _God! How I am supposed to feel? A man that I considered a friend just killed himself because of me!_ His profound sigh gets the attention of Anderson who was on the sofa, nearly slipping on to the floor from exhaustion.

“Everything all right boss?” He calls, frowning with concern. “News from the office?” 

“Yeah… Just have the feeling that I have to show up if I still want a job…” Lestrade replies, tired already even though he was able to snatch a few hours of sleep last night. He woke up early in the morning, an hour or so before John left to go to Mycroft Holmes’ place. “Maybe it's better to go to the Yard to know what they are planning next…” 

“You’re right… I’ve received similar messages but without the white gloves as I’m not a DI.” Philip was smiling a little, happier that he was yesterday as he was able to talked to John and that they actually had a plan, adds with concern in his voice. “Is it all? You seem… I don’t know, weary…” As Greg looks at him with a sarcastically silent ‘really?’, he continues “Don’t look like that at me… I know we never been  _friends_ , but we know each other for what... 10 years? I’ve seen you when you had problem with your wife, then after the divorce, when we lost officers... I know that you really liked Sherlock, that you were proud of what he become… Since his… death, you are not only sad and furious with an healthy dose of guilt like most of us…” He pauses, thinking about Donovan who didn’t change her mind and is still calling him a freak, even now. “...but all those feelings are underlined by… I don’t know how to express it… you’re looking… restless maybe? As if something else is in your mind. Last night, sometimes in the middle of a sentence, you suddenly faded out and seemed so empty, isolated… Like the weight of all this was upon your shoulders, like…  like you were alone. You know, right, that you are not alone?”

Thinking about last night, Greg closes his eyes, not wanting Philip to read something in it.  _I don’t understand, it’s so strange… That feeling. I didn’t feel it for a decade… That impression that my soul is divided in two… That I am, on the contrary, not alone at all… But it’s impossible. My soulmate died years ago. Can someone get a second chance?_ He brushes off the idea quickly, not believing that he could be so lucky to have a second soulmate.  _No… no… it’s not something new. It’s the same oppressing feeling of unexpected loneliness layered without any reason to my own thoughts that I felt before... Before I learned that she died. How is it possible… Maybe it was an error and that the woman in the record wasn’t my soulmate?_ Not liking the path his mind was following, he simply pushes everything away. _It’s only John's news about Sherlock being his soulmate that is playing with my mind._  

Anderson’s voice brought him back to reality. “Greg, I’m going at my place for a shower and new clothes than I will go to the office." After a pause, he had softly. "Are you all right? For sure?” He winces as he rises from the sofa to go to the kitchen. Putting the paper on the table in a somewhat order, he nods in approval not waiting for Lestrade replies to his worries knowing that it would never come.  _Yes, this is going to work._ “It’s going to work.” He repeats out loud for Greg’s hearing.

“Yes,” the man approves, “between an ex-army captain, a detective inspector, a medical examiner and the man who control the government, we’ve got the best team to tackle any criminals. And, this is crazy!, but I am bloody serious! I really believe we can do it!”  _If only we had done this sooner…_ “So, off to the Yard for us, John is probably sleeping in a bit this morning and…” As his phone pings one last time, he opens it quickly with exasperation. It was Mycroft Holmes. 

> Don’t worry about Doctor Watson, DI Lestrade, he’s currently sleeping but a car is going to take him to my office this afternoon. MH
> 
> How could you… I hope you didn’t put a bloody camera in my flat! GL
> 
> Inspector, I don’t need a camera to know you’re a good man who cares about his friends. GL

Looking at his phone, Greg mutters, “what the hell…” before walking the ME to the door while reminding him that it was better for them to stay low profile at the office for now. “See you later Philip, we’ll talk again tonight with John to put the last details in place.” Once the door closed, Lestrade jumps quickly in the shower to get ready for work.

 

Closing his phone, Mycroft looks pensively outside the car, not acknowledging Anthea’s curious look. With a smirk, the PA simply let it go, knowing that at some point her boss – who she  _cautiously_ considered a friend – will talk to her about what’s troubling him if he wanted to.  _Besides the obvious: Sherlock, their parents, John, and running the country._

They worked together all morning, as usual, with the addition of checking for any rumours about Sherlock spreading in Russia and to follow the status of the next target. Raising her head from her laptop, Anthea frowns as the details of the different targets appeared on the screen, not liking some of the names or the places where Sherlock will have to go. “Sir… You know that we won’t be able to walk through everything with Sherlock.  At some point, he’s going to be on his own for weeks.”

“Of course, I know that, Anthea.” His lips were tight.  _I’ve worked with enough undercover agents to know that sometimes it’s just… impossible. We’re unfortunately not in a Bond movie._  “But my brother is resourceful, and I am not afraid for him.” 

“And as he has something to came home to now…” Anthea adds with a soft, knowing smile.

“Yes… Doctor Watson.” He smirks “And you forget something my dear…”

“What?”

“He also wants to come back to punch me, hard, and probably prattle everything to our mother.” Thinking back to all their childish feuds, Mycroft chuckles slightly.  _All this is so far away…_

Laughing for the first time in the last week, Anthea watches his boss as he gets back to work. Unable to stop feeling a little bit of pity for the so powerful man.   _He needs friends and someone in his life… He can’t lose Sherlock!_

“Go back to work dear, North Korea won’t be pacified by itself.” Mycroft mumbles a few seconds later, as he was feeling the PA’s eyes on his neck.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry.”

 

It was a little bit after noon when John emerges from his slumber. Looking around, his first thoughts were  _Where the hell am? Again._  Before he remembers that he was at Mycroft’s flat…  _Sherlock’s room!_  Sitting up, he looks around him again, ecstatic about the intimacy of sleeping in his soulmate's bed.  _This is surreal, we haven’t kiss and I am in his bed!_ As Mrs. Holmes' voice carried through the heavy door, he thinks, a _nd I’m already living with my in-laws…_ Taking a moment to think about his soulmate, he puts his head down on the pillow again and closes his eyes, letting his imagination run a little bit…

 _All those notebooks full of details about what I was perceiving of you… Now that I know it’s true that you are mine_ _… Now that I know Mycroft lies… I would be able to have a better understanding of you my love. I must go to the bank to get them! I_ _s Mycroft able to access a personnel safety box in a bank? Fuck... I hope not! This is personal stuff!_ The doctor shivers at the idea of Mycroft reading g his journals!  _Your brother told me that you realized after you jump, that you know that we are soulmates…_ _You know but I still can’t reach you? Why?_ A sadness drops on him suddenly. _You are so stubborn sometimes…_ His anxiety rises as a horrible idea pops up in his mind. _I hope you didn’t take that shit they sell to block the link. You wouldn't do that, would you? Anyway, even that has some limit! Emotions, when acknowledged, can slightly overwhelm the effect of the pill. I’ve read about that at uni._

But the voice of the Holmeses were becoming louder, it was time to get up! Something about how Mrs. Holmes just wanted to offer him tea or coffee and Mr. Holmes softly arguing to his wife that it was better ‘to let the poor man sleep’.  Laughing silently, John rises for good and opens the wardrobe to take out the clothes he brought from 221b yesterday when his eyes fall on one of Sherlock's robes. It was a deep blue, in silk, really luxurious. Pulling it from the closet, John brought it to his nose, longing for his beloved's scent. Sadly, it was only smelled of the odour of the detergent.  _I will use it tonight_ … Picking up his grooming bag he walks into the en-suite for a much needed shower.

 

A little later, feeling rested and clean, he walks down the stairs to the kitchen where the Holmes were already prepping for lunch. 

“John!” Sherlock’s mother was grinning. “Did you sleep well? Are you hungry? Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Just black coffee, thanks, Mrs. Holmes…”  He still had 45 minutes before the car arrived to take him to Mycroft's office, so plenty of time to have coffee and a little something to eat.

“Oh! You can call me Violet!” She pours a coffee and places a basket of muffins on the table.  John nods, smiles and sits at the kitchen nook. He tried to check the papers, looking for anything that can hide something about Moriarty’s gang, but he was uneasy as he knew each of his moves was closely monitored. Until, once again, Mr. Holmes intervenes.

“Honey, stop watching John like that, you are making him uncomfortable!” He chides her softly.

“But… It’s just that…” Tears appear in her eyes. “John’s the only link I’ve got with my little boy right now… The proof that he’s going to do everything to return to England.”

Soothing his wife, the older man murmurs “Yes, I know Violet but… don’t put too much pressure on John, would you. He’s already lost without his soulmate, don’t add to his trouble mind…” 

“It’s ok, Mr. Holmes, don’t worry. I’m doing the same, in a way, as I don’t want to be too far away from Mycroft because if someone can bring Sherlock home, it’s him!”

“You’re right, with all the people who love him and are willing to do anything to protect him, nothing bad can happen!” Her husband engulfs her in his arms, tightly murmuring little fragments of hope in her ear.  Not wanting to intrude and as a pang of unexpected jealousy was spreading in his heart, John left to go in the lobby to wait for Mycroft car. Before he lefts the kitchen he turns his head slightly to see Mr. Holmes watching him with a benevolent but sad smile… Looking into John’s eyes he articulates silently “Go help Sherlock, my son!”

With a new wave of resolution, John greets Simpson and jump in the car. Looking at his phone, he sees a message from Greg announcing a meeting at his place tonight to put the last parts of their plan together and put everything into action.  

 

Lost in the details of what he wants to tell Mycroft, the fifteen minute drive went quickly. Pulling a grave face, he was in mourning after all, John steps out of the car ready to be inspected by Mycroft's unknowing staff. Anthea, who was waiting behind the door, swiftly helps him thru the impressive security check.  _Still don’t know what he’s doing exactly…_  Taking his time to absorb what was going on, John looks around him for the first time. The department was composed of a few open offices, a lot of computers and a lot of big screens – which all became black as soon as he enters the room.  _Ouhhhhhhhhhh secrets_ … He smirks in his head. He didn’t remember who was there the first time he came or if the computers and tellies also all turned to black, but it's probably a standard procedure when a visitor is present. The few people present stop all discussions, and everybody was just waiting for them,  _for him_ , to go inside Holmes' office.

“Do you need something John, tea or coffee… A lunch?” Anthea asks as they arrive at the soundproof door.

“No, thanks, all set.”

“Let’s do this then.” She smiles an opens the door with her code. “Sir, Doctor Watson is here…” and she closed the door behind them.

Rising from his chair, the government man extends his hand “Oh… John, did you sleep well?” He smiles compassionately. “I hope my parents weren’t too… smothering?” 

“No, no, nothing too invasive.” He chuckles before letting go of Mycroft's hand “…your mother was clucking over me like a mother hen, but it’s okay… I’m one of the few links with her youngest son right now, so it’s understandable.”

“Yes…” Mycroft sighs, looking at his computer screen where Sherlock's little dot was flashing in Moscow. “It’s not easy for them… but you’re giving them hope that all is going to be well at the end.” Walking to the small conference table he adds “Let’s start if you want… So, Doctor Watson, what is the plan?”

 

They talk for hours, Mycroft or Anthea arguing on some points, but essentially on board with what John, Greg and Philip came up with.  After a small pause, for tea and restroom break, John - who was restraining himself since he entered the office - finally asks for news about Sherlock. Smiling, Anthea gives John a sheet of paper with the last conversation. Letting John read it at his own pace, Mycroft and Anthea retreat to the desk to discuss other matters.

Closing his eyes, John breathes in and out few times before reading the conversation. It was only a few lines. Remarks about the trip, about the people he interacted with… Anthea bugging him to eat, to sleep, to be safe… It was as normal as it could be, besides the fact that he was in a dangerous mission.  _But he looks like he's currently safe, in a hostel with international students. He's making sarcastic comments about people, so it's good._

Scanning the sheet as if he could read something hiding under the worlds, he mutters to calm himself. “Good… He’s fine… That’s... that's good.” If he was pleased that Sherlock seemed to take care of himself a bit, he was still uneasy.  _God, I wish I could talk to him…_  He look towards the desk. “Do you think I could have a burner phone… I would love to talk to him directly.” The apologetic looks of Mycroft and Anthea were the only answer he received… as predicted. “At least, could you please send him another message from me…”. 

Looking at his boss with defiant eyes, the PA opens the secure text app on her phone and gives it to John. “Just don’t be too specific… The line is secure but if… if someone gets his hand on his phone… We don’t want to put him in any more danger, you understand.”

“Yes… I will be careful.” John took the Blackberry reverently, tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. _It’s the closest we’ve been in nearly a week… It’s around 7 PM in Moscow… If I'm lucky... maybe… God… I must stop shaking._

> Hello. A

John waits, looking at the phone. After too many minutes the tale telling little dots appeared on the screen. He quickly turns to hide his face, not wanting the others to see the raw emotions he was feeling.

> What? WL
> 
> I’ve got nothing new, we talked only a few hours ago. WL
> 
> It’s not A. I asked for her phone because I wasn’t getting any reception on mine. A
> 
> (…)
> 
> (…)
> 
> This is a problem that occurred to me some time ago. WL
> 
> For real? ;-) A
> 
> No… it was a devious plan. WL
> 
> I remember when you gave me back my phone like it was yesterday. A
> 
> It was in good order, wasn't it? WL
> 
> Yes… but it was left humming in a weird way. A
> 
> (…)
> 
> I am sorry… I will repay you. I promise. WL
> 
> For all that time with a (...) difficult and unavailable phone. WL
> 
> I know you will. A
> 
> Still now, I can’t get a line, no communication what so ever… Do you know why? A
> 
> Maybe it’s for the better (…) to keep it closed for a while. WL
> 
> Have you done something to it? A
> 
> The same as YB? A
> 
> Maybe WL
> 
> Don’t be mad, please. I will (...) repair it as soon as possible. WL
> 
> Just don’t get a new one, give me the chance to correct everything. WL
> 
> I’m not changing it, don’t worry. A
> 
> I like it too much. A
> 
> That’s good WL
> 
> Really good WL
> 
> Keep it safe and I will fix it as soon as I’m back at the office. WL
> 
> I will if you do the same. A
> 
> I will, I promise. WL
> 
> Me too. A
> 
> (…)
> 
> (…)
> 
> HFNYBYNC. WL

“Mycroft… does HFNYBYNC means something to you?” John asks urgently. Mycroft smiles and closes his eyes to concentrate.

> Sorry, my phone fell while I was typing. WL
> 
> Got to go. WL
> 
> Keep in touch. A
> 
> I will. WL

“Mycroft!”

Opening his eyes, Holmes murmurs “I love you… This is what he said… I love you.”  Rushing to the phone, John types.

> Me too… Me too. A
> 
> (user has disconnected)

“You were quick, Sir, I’m still stuck at the first ‘N’…” Anthea jokes to relax the atmosphere.

Rising his shoulders with dismissal, Mycroft argues “Once you’ve decoded the first few letters… the meaning was clearly obvious.”

John, still in chock from Sherlock declaration of love, utters “Sorry… obvious?” rolling his eyes.

“It’s an easy code, when you know the key. In this case…" Thinking back fondly to the time when he showed his younger brother, still at elementary school at that time, how to create a secret code from any text. "... it’s from Henry IV, the famous 'Once more unto the breach'…” Back to his usual falsely casual tone he inquires “So, what’s next, John. You are planning a meeting with your _little group_  tonight?”

“Yes, I will go back at your place for few hours and let you work if you don’t mind, as we’re supposed to meet at 8.” 

“No problem, Anthea will take you back to the car… I’ll be at home at 7PM, if you want we can all eat together, I know that my parents would love to…” The fondness for his parents was apparent, even with his bored tone.

“Of course and, if you have nothing more important to do than to salvage your brother's reputation and keep him safe," _It's not nice to say this like that, but sometimes a little incentive is the only way..._  "I would like for you to come with me to Greg’s place tonight.”

An oppressing feeling of doom and fate and...  _Shit! No! Over my dead body!_ were Mycroft's first silent responses _,_ before he heard himself reply to his astonishment,"Yes, of course. I will attend your meeting with pleasure and will try to help within the limit of my limited power."  _Oh God, why did I say that!_

"Great! I will see you later at dinner." 

Anthea, unaware that his boss was on suppressant but who knows that he always had a soft spot for DI Lestrade, smiles while she accompanied John to the car. _A collaboration between the two men is going to be fun to watch... if it wasn't the fact that Sherlock is in perpetual danger!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I've created a secret code from scratch for the fun of it! That's what's happening when you are coding all day long... If you want the key, let me know :-)
> 
> And, more than 50k... Ouf!


	26. Did I miss something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea is taking care of business! 
> 
> Is Mycroft really going to Greg's place? When he knows that by doing so he's putting himself in a dangerous position... What's going on in Greg's mind?
> 
> A gentle push towards Mystrade this time, just for you dear readers!

 

The afternoon flies quickly because of a crisis at Buckingham, something about pictures of the Duchess apparently finding the Canadian PM a bit too cute, and it was past seven in the blink of an eye. Anthea, finally able to close her computer, laughs “What a day! Thank God we won’t have that kind of rumour with Trump's visit next month!”   

“The problem will probably be on the opposite of the spectrum…” Mutters Mycroft. He was drained… Trying to work while checking on Sherlock from the corner of his eye and _not_ thinking about a certain detective was exhausting!

“Simpson is available, Sir. He’s waiting for you in the garage.”

“Why?”

“It’s already 7:30… Isn’t  that the time for you to pick up John at your home and go to your meeting with Lestrade and Anderson?” Anthea was carefully restraining herself from smirking. 

“Ooooh… I can’t go… My parents are waiting for me for dinner and… It’s going to be late.” The politician nearly stutters out his ridiculous idea of an excuse.

Looking at her phone, the PA shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Sir, Mrs. Homes asked me two hours ago if you were going to be able to be there for dinner and I told her no, that we had a crisis to attend to and…”

“ANTHEA! You are not allowed to manage my private life!” 

“Since when, sir?” The PA gave him her best contrite face. “I wasn’t aware that I wasn't… I will stop at once.” She pauses, waiting for any reaction from her boss. “I will give you all my notes about your parents' wedding anniversary, everything is almost done you should be able to complete all that needs doing in time for the celebration.” She rises, taking her coat. “My day is finished, do you want me to contact your brother befo…. Oh! Sorry! You're right. I will forward all communication from Sherlock to your personal phone starting from now and…”  

Holmes, who knew when he was beaten, murmurs, “I’m sorry…” 

“Hmmm? Did you say something?”  

“I’M SORRY. Anthea… You are essential to both my professional and my family life. Happy?”

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that Sir, I know… It’s just that sometimes, you need to be reminded that we are a team.”

“I know… don’t worry. That is why you are paid royally for your trouble!” He chuckles. “More than the Queen's PA if my memory isn't failing me…”

“And for that I am very pleased… but I like working for you and I know when you are stressed. Give me a little credit, I have known you and your family for nearly five years now."

Mycroft laughs, _poor woman she deserved a knighthood,_ walking to the bathroom attached to his office he asks politely, “Could you please order me a sandwich on your way out? I will freshen up and go to that damn meeting…”  

“Already done, should be here in few minutes.” She looks in direction of the en-suite where her boss was washing his hands. “Mr. Holmes, Mycroft, if I may…”

“I think we established that you ‘may’ a great deal my dear…”  Mycroft replies with a sarcastic tone laced with fondness, his voice echoing in the tiled room.

Chuckling, Anthea once again knew how fortunate she was when she crossed the politician’s path. “That meeting has been troubling you since Dr. Watson left, why?”

Not wanting to give the question too much thought, he shrugs. “The purpose of the meeting, discussing Sherlock's fate, isn’t that enough to be troublesome?”  

“No, not usually…” _Usually focusing on his brother's fate keeps him sharp…_ “There’s something more this time.”

_ This day will never end.  _ “Go on, ask. You are dying to!”

“Is it because it’s in the lair of a beautiful silver-fox.” As her boss remains silent, she continues. “Don’t you think Gregory Lestrade is a nice catch for any woman… or man.”

Mycroft furiously closes the door to get more intimacy. “Shut up and go home, Anthea!” _Impossible to have five minutes peace!_ Selecting a new shirt and tie, he slowly removes his jacket and vest then his tie and shirt. Avoiding the mirror, as always when he was naked, he mentally scolds himself. _It’s Sherlock's well-being! Our family's reputation! I must concentrate and not let… emotions… get the best of me._ His PA's words were stubbornly resounding in his ears. _The lair of a beautiful silver-fox… A catch for any woman or man._ He shakes his head, hoping to clear his mind. A blast of fury coming from nowhere suddenly pushes away his intentions to stay composed. _What? Oh God…. No… No._ Rushing through the small vanity case he kept at work, he searches fruitlessly for his spare bottle of suppressant. _It’s impossible! It’s supposed to be there… I must get home. Quickly._ Rushing to put on his clean shirt, he dresses haphazardly before opening the door. 

Anthea, seated on the edge of her boss's desk, rises an eye.  “Well? Still waiting for your opinion on our dear DI Lestrade.” 

“Anthea… You can take care of my family life, but you have no right to fuss over my love life!”

In astonishment, the woman asks “Which love life? Did I miss something?”

“Anyway…” Mycroft protests matter of factly, “Even _if_ I happened to be interested, DI Lestrade is not in my league.”

“You are a lot of things, Mr.Holmes, but I wouldn’t have labelled you as a snob.” 

“I am a snob and you know it…” He sniggers. “But you’ve got it wrong, my dear, it’s the other way around. I can’t see what such an excellent man as DI Lestrade would gain from having my interest.”

“You are a hard man, Mr. Holmes, but you are protecting the one you love as well as this country. You can be sarcastic and cold, but I think it’s because you want to protect yourself from…” Mycroft was looking at Anthea with a furious glare, ready to do whatever was necessary to make her shut up, when someone knocked on the door. It was the dinner that Anthea ordered fifteen minutes ago.

Mycroft, taking his coat, storms out of the office. “Never mind, I am not hungry anymore!”   

Smiling, Anthea took a tiny bottle from her skirt pocket. Looking at the damn pills, she walks to the bathroom to flush them in the toilet. _Men… always need a little help to see the obvious._

 

Mycroft was walking quickly towards the exit, not acknowledging the ‘Good night, Sir’ or questions from his staff. _Thank God, the car is already here…_ Simpson, as Mycroft leaves the compound, rapidly opens the door for his boss. As soon as his head touches the headrest, he shuts his eyes and tries to relax, to close his mind to anything external. To not think about the beautiful, courageous, sexy… _Shit, this is not helping! I must continue the charade for a little bit longer... At home, I will take 2 or 3 pills and within the next 30 minutes the madness will stop. I can’t… It’s already bad enough I have to deal with Lestrade's mood but if he starts to feel mine… God, my life was perfect, how is it possible!_ The overwhelming feeling of anger burst once more and without his consent, his mind starts sending a soothing energy to his soulmate… Trying to change the anger in something more positive, trying to calm the other. _What am I doing, I mustn’t think about him like that. I don’t care if he’s angry, or sad, or hungry, or happy, or horny or… or…_ But it was too late, the vision of a laughing Gregory, happy and satisfied sprung in his head. Turning his head to look at the street, _where the hell are we? It’s not the way home_ , a surge of unwanted desire made him moans softly.

“Mycroft, are you all right?” A voice from the front of the car asks. 

“John!” Seated next to Simpson, John was looking at Mycroft with concern. “What are you doing here?”

“We are going to Greg’s place, remember?”

“I was going to pick you up… I…” _I need to go home! Now!_

“I knew that you were late, so Anthea and I thought it was easier this way.” He chuckles, looking at Simpson. “And don’t be too hard on Simpson, Mycroft, I had to beg him to be able to sit in the front.” He turns back to the front, not seeing the distraught expression on Mycroft's face, “Oh! Here we are!”  Not waiting for the chauffeur, John steps out of the car, once again wearing his grief for his lost friend, in his face and shoulders like he always does in public.

The politician was paralyzed, not knowing what to do. _I’ve got two choices. Either I go inside and try to control these bloody impractical, unnecessary feelings or make-up an excuse to go back home where I will take the pills asap before deciding if I’m going back to Grego… DI Lestrade's flat._ A draft of fresh air brings him back to the present moment.

“Don’t tell me you’re too snobbish to open you own car door…” John was standing outside, the door handle still in hand. “Come on Mycroft, they’re waiting for us.”

   

Greg was feeling restless… again. He tried to focus on his day while he was tidying up his flat before the others arrive. It as been a long and horrible day, it was already nearly 8 and the day wasn’t over! The look of concern from his team, the two hour meetings with his bosses... the day at the office keeps running in his head. _As if I was able to explain what really happened!_ In short, the Met wants him to acknowledge officially that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud, to admit publicly that he’s been manipulated by the ‘criminal’, to end his friendship with John Watson and to gracefully accept his demotion. _Over my dead body!_ _I_ n his fury, he nearly destroys the sofa cushions while trying to fluff them! _Anyway, I know that as soon Mycroft finds about that he's going to do something about it… I won’t be useful to the man if I am not a DI anymore!_ The idea that his bosses are going to get the visit from the 'minor official' to be ever so politely crushed, allows him to smile grimly for the first time all day. A weird sense of longing spread in his core at the thought of how protective Sherlock’s brother can be. His image pops in front of him, tall, lean, always perfectly dressed. _Always in control, always ahead of everything.Don’t know what it would take to make him lose his composure…_ The smirk that appeared on Greg lips disappears instantly as heat starts pooling in his stomach.

_ What the hell… What’s going on with me! Daydreaming about Mycroft Holmes tonight, fading out while talking to John and Philip yesterday! _ __

But it was too late! Remembering the sensations he felt the other night, the image of the young man newly engraved in his eyes, he was once more engulfed in a wave of mixed emotions… but tenfold! As if Mycroft Holmes was the key to a secret garden. He was still feeling his doubts, his fury about his bosses’ attitude, his exhaustion but it was intertwined with solitude, loneliness, desire, a level of anxiety on the verge of panic. Sentiments from an unknown origin! And worse, far worse than the day before.  _Oh my God._ _A_ _secret garden? No, more like a dam!_

Lestrade falls onto a nearby chair, the sentiments overwhelming everything, leaving him breathless. _Shit! What’s going on! I don’t understand! How can Mycroft cause…_ But his body betrayed him, his mind unable to process anything as a wave of desire grabbed him. Panting, he resists with great difficulty the urge of taking the matter in his own hands like a lustful teenager.“What’s going on!” He repeats, out loud this time, the desire straining his voice.   Looking at the clock, he realizes that his friends would be there momentarily. _Christ._ Removing his clothes, he swiftly jumps in the tub for a cold shower. Pushing away all those stupid and troubling ideas about Mycroft bloody Holmes. _Anderson and John are about to arrive! I must focus on Sherlock and Moriarty 's legacy, not thinking about… shenanigans._

Just a few minutes later, calmer after the cold water and the reminder of what was important, he walks into his kitchen to plug in the kettle when someone knocks at the door. _Good, less time to wander around!_ With his usual compassionate smile he unlocks the door to let John inside his home when a deep voice behind the doctor shakes him to the core.

“Inspector, good evening. May I join your meeting?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will go back to Sherlock... let say that he's not far in my mind currently. He's just in a bolt hole waiting his transfert for his next target. Bored, obviously.
> 
> What would you want to read next? Let me know!


	27. Alive and well and clueless.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is in Moscow and the little gang is meeting at Greg's place.

_Earlier that day… _

The sun was setting on Moscow, the night already on its way. Now that the businessmen were at their posh hotel, it was time for everyone to part ways. Some of them, students that used the bus for quick money and cheap transportation were willing to go to a bar to party but Sherlock gently declines the invitation, muttering about a meeting at the US embassy in the morning regarding his visa. Waving goodbye joyfully to the other teachers/animators that accompany him in the 800 kilometres bus ride from Saratov to Moscow, he quickly walks in the opposite direction. _Finally, it was driving me crazy!_ Being surrounded by nearly 80 loud Russians would certainly remain on the top of the most horrible experiences in his life! _The jokes, the songs, the overly cheerful animators! The positive point is that nobody can expect me in a place like this!_ Turning on the next corner, he strolls down Ulitsa Maroseyka where the hostel he was supposed to sleep tonight was located. Stopping a few minutes in a grocery store, he replenishes his reserve of power bar and apples. _I should send a picture to Anthea_ , he chuckles.

In front of the address, he smiles when he saw the hostel name. _Comrade Hostel. How fitting, perfect for the young American in search of his communist adventure!_ As it was an hostel where a lot of students from all around the world were staying, he decided to remain in his American persona a little bit longer. C rossing the street, the sound of a street musician suddenly surrounds him. After all the racket in the bus, which prevented him from spending time in his Mind Palace, or even thinking in general, the music was marvellous! Even with the cars, the trucks or the people in the street…A s he walks in direction of the musician, Tchaikovsky's _Sérénade Mélancholique_ became clearer and clearer. Unable to resist, Sherlock stands discreetly at the corner of a street overlooking the performance, the darkness shading him. It wasn’t the best instrument nor the best musician, but the longing and the sadness brought him to tears. _It’s John influence,_ he protests _, I am not that easily moved usually._ How he longs for his violin! Of the things he left behind, it was his most precious. _But at least, it’s safe… Maybe John is finding comfort knowing that I will play it again soon._ At the end of the last measures, the detective quickly runs to the man to give him a few hundred rubles. Sherlock smiles and simply said that it was really nice in a falsely imperfect Russian and left for the hostel, not wanting to give any indication that he’s something other than a young American traveling in Europe.   Once in one of the few single rooms, he drops on the bed to listen to his favourite music store in his Mind Palace… and falls asleep.  
 

After many hours of sleep and a shower, he picked up his phone to contact Anthea. As usual, it was few minutes full of ‘Did you eat yesterday?’, ‘Are you sleeping’ etc _Dull._ _This is tedious, I’m not a child…_ He tries to quit the conversation before she coerces him to talk to John or his brother but something that the PA says kept him interested. 

> I’m worry about YB you know. A
> 
> Why? He’s eating too much cake? WL
> 
> Be serious for a minute! A
> 
> I can assure you that I’m taking life pretty seriously right now. WL
> 
> Sorry… A
> 
> But it’s true! I don’t know what to do.  He needs help, something is troubling him and I don’t know what to do! A
> 
> Guilt sometimes does that. WL
> 
> We are talking about YB… A

Looking at the blinking line, Sherlock thought about what could trouble his brother to the point where Anthea is seeking help near him… _Is it about me? No… Certainly not! About the job… Don’t think so, Anthea knows everything about the work. What else. Ohhhh… Oh. Right.  
_

> It’s pretty early in London but are you already at the office? Look in MB bathroom, in the vanity case or someplace similar. You are going to find what’s the problem. WL
> 
> (...)
> 
> (...)
> 
> Oh. My. God. REALLY!! A
> 
> That was quick Ms. A. WL
> 
> I can’t believe it… It explains a lot.  And the... other? A
> 
> Alive and well. WL
> 
> And clueless. WL
> 
> Delete that part of the conversation! I’ll do the same on my side. WL
> 
> Yes. I will. A
> 
> Be safe. A
> 
> I will. WL

Satisfied that, even three thousand kilometres away, he was able to outsmart his brother, he walks out of his room to get a coffee in the communal kitchen area. It was still early for most of the guests and he was all alone.  He sighs as he waits for his coffee to brew, satisfied by his strangely peaceful night, without nightmares or bad dreams of any sort. His mind shifted to that night in Saratov when he broke down. _It’s only a night ago, but I am feeling completely different. I am still myself, but with a complete new layer that I will shed away when it’s over. I can’t let my Mind Palace be polluted by what is needed. I can’t mix John with… that._ Thinking of John, he checks his watch. _Okay… it’s good, I still have time before the next pills._ With a smirk, he thinks about his brother and walks back to his room with a strong mug of coffee. _I wonder how long it’s going to take before Mycroft needs the stash in his office… And who’s the poor devil that is linked with him! If the man or the_ _woman is already around him,_ _Anthea probably already has an idea._

The next hours passed quietly. He once again checks the data on his next target using a highly protected server, makes contact with the man who’s going to take him in Helsinski, eats a little… He was too mentally exhausted to even been bored! _That’s a first_ … He was doing the crossword in The Moscow Times when his phone bip. Anthea… Again!   

>  What? WL  
> 
>  I’ve got nothing new, we talked only a few hours ago. WL
> 
>  It’s not A. I asked for her phone because I wasn’t getting any reception on mine. A

 _It’s John… Finally, thanks God… he’s there. I’m going to kill Anthea later… but he’s there. My John. What can I say to make him understand that I realize it’s him?_ Thinking about their first meeting, he reflects on John’s bad reception comment. It was a dream… and a nightmare. Not able to talk as freely as they want, but enough to know that the other one was still onboard with their crazy relationship. That they were truly soulmates… At the doctor's direct question about the broken link ( _My c_ __lever_ clever John…) _ he decided to be honest. The fact that John knew about his brother eased the way a bit… Unable to resist, he quickly sent a secret ‘I love you’, knowing that his brother has the key. It was the best he could do at that moment… He closes his eyes as the conversation ended with a floating ‘me too’ dancing under his lids. 

 

 _I can do that_ … Mycroft thought for the umpteenth time in the last hours.    _I won’t let my basic instinct get the best of me! I’m fine, better than fine! I just need to stay focussed on Sherlock… And that’s all. Just need to stop thinking about… him._ The blur of the conversation around him suddenly cease as John, Greg and Philip stop talking to look at the silent and clearly troubled man. 

“Mycroft?” John asks softly with his ‘doctor voice’ “Are you all right?” 

“Yes! Of course… Why wouldn’t I…”  _God! Get a grip!_

“It okay, you know, Mr. Holmes. We are talking about your brother… Can only imagine… Got to be difficult.” Philip intervenes, placing his fingers on Mycroft’s arm.  An icy glare was the only reaction he received before he quickly removed his solicitous hand. “… Sorry, Sir… I…”

At John and Greg's frowning faces, he managed a fake smile. “Apologies… I am sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that when you were only trying to help.” Turning to look at Anderson's eyes, he continues, “But as I know that you are one who showed the most animosity toward my younger brother, and Sally Donovan of course,” Mycroft nearly spits out the name! “I am still amazed how quickly you changed sides.”

Anderson's face goes pale, then reddens with shame, before he stutters out, “I was… Mr. Holmes… _I was_ . I saw the error in my judgement on the day… on the day Sherlock died. I will feel guilty about it forever! The only thing that can help me to go on is to clear his name… To give John and Sherlock’s family peace of mind.” 

“Philip is on board for real, do not doubt his commitment, Mycroft!” John affirms, a bit protective, not knowing what the hell what the elder Holmes problem was!  _Worrying about Anderson's feelings… Sherlock is going to be gobsmacked!_

“If you trust him, John, I will.” He raises a hand, showing the documents on the table. “Where were we?”

“I was talking about what I learned today…” Greg was looking at John, not wanting to focus on Mycroft as he was still a bit weird and afraid about the feelings he had earlier that day. “Sorry to say it’s not that much. They are closing the inquiry, which is good because they’ll stop destroying Sherlock’s work, but in the same time that means that his guilt will remain the official 'conclusion' of this affair.” He chuckles, shaking his head before he utters angrily. “Can’t believe how thick they are!... On the other hand, I was blinded myself.” His voice became airy “You know, Sherlock was magnificent! So brilliant! Our job is to suspect the worst, always, but when I met him I was completely swept of my feet! Even when he was high, he was more astute than our entire team and, sorry John!, but he was fucking sexy!” As he was laughing at John's ‘Oy!’ face, a pang of unexpected jealousy spreads in his head. Turning rapidly towards Mycroft, he realizes that the younger man was slowly closing his hands, as if trying to stay calm, so he continues while looking at Mycroft discreetly... “But of course, he was only like a little brother to me...” The strong emotion subdues, replaced by coldness and anxiety. Placing a hand on John’s shoulder, Greg apologizes. “Sorry mate, shouldn’t talk about him like that. It’s just that… you know the man… I can’t believe that he left us...”

Feeling guiltier about the secret, John simply shakes his head. “Don’t worry, Greg, it’s good for me to be able to talk about him… It's only been few days but... Anyway, did you learn anything new? About Moriarty? What’s going on with you?”

Lestrade shrugs. “The body on the roof was identified as Richard Brook, so it’s our job to prove that Moriarty was either the alter-ego of Richard Brook or that they are two different people and that the criminal is still at large.” He pauses, looking for the words to use to explain his own situation…  “Regarding my job, it’s going to be a problem. They want to knock me down, not to patrol duty thank God, but as a simple detective and no longer leading my team. It’s going to be harder to gather intel…” The anxiety that was surrounding his heart left quickly, replaced by anger. The still present coldness mixed with the fury nearly brought Greg to tears as they compete with his own emotions.

“Don’t worry, DI Lestrade, you will remain at your position.” Mycroft's voice was icy… Anderson who was in presence of Mycroft Holmes for the first time that night, measured the weight of the man's position. “I may have lost the support of some of my… associates but as they were already not on my side it doesn’t really matter. Sherlock has… _fans_ of his works in high places and they won’t admit that their judgement wasn’t right.” John smiles smugly, remembering that the Queen was reading his blog. “Regarding Jim Moriarty, I am not yet able to prove that his name was Brook, but one thing for sure the body on Bart’s roof was of the man known as Moriarty.”

“Good… One thing less to fuss over.” John looks at the three men. “Are we all good on that plan? It won't be easy… But it's going to work.”

“Yes!” Philip exclaims with passion. “It’s going to work!”

“It’s really simple when you are thinking about it…” Greg adds, checking the plan in front of him. “Quick recap then! First, we have the names of the three snipers that were looking after us. We need to follow them, learn everything… Find evidence of their link with Moriarty. Once that is established, it’s going to cause a breach in the official statement against Sherlock.”

“Thinking that Sherlock jumped to save his friends… and we were calling him a freak. He was the most human…” Philip wasn’t able to continue, emotions choking his voice.

“Thinking about this won’t bring him back, Anderson! We’ll mourn later!” Greg rises to get a bottle of whisky. _Tea time is over!_

“Greg’s right. Let’s focus on our plan for now… I’m going to go back to Baker Street as soon as possible and contact Sherlock’s homeless network. If someone is hiding something… they’re going to know! And I'll start blogging again, to shake the snake's nest!”

Anderson, more in control but still shaky, confirms his part of the plan. “In the meantime, I will discreetly go back over all of Sherlock’s cases to get evidence that it was impossible for Sherlock to have done the deed. At the same time, I will photograph or copy all the proof in case someone at the Met is too intent on… cleaning up."

The little gang turns to Mycroft, waiting for him to commit to his part of the plan. “And I will, after a little editing, make sure that the footage of Moriarty when he _visited_ my office, is leaked to the public. The madness of the man, his obsession for my brother… all of this will enflame public opinion and the press.” He pauses, playing with his phone, then continues. “And I will _personally_ take charge of all that is needed to ensure _your_ safety.” _Until Sherlock is back._


	28. I’ll see what we can do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months later...

“Three months have passed! Three bloody months… And what do we have? NOTHING!” John was looking anxiously at the last transcript of Anthea's conversation with Sherlock. He drops into his chair, looking gloomily at the black modern leather one in front of him. Empty, so empty… Clutching the sheets of paper, he repeats with a sob .“Nothing…”

Mycroft, slowly and with caution, walks until he was near the ex-military man and kneels down to look at him in the eyes. “John… Things are moving, we always known that it was going to be a long war. But we've won battles, which is great. Don’t despair, everything is going to be fine.” He pauses as he hears the heavy front door close and DI Lestrade chatting with Ms. Hudson. “John… If I may… my friend… Give me the transcript, you can’t keep it, it’s not secure enough here.” Knowing that it was a  _cheap shot_ … Mycroft murmurs as Greg starts moving up the stairs. “You wouldn’t want to endanger Sherlock, would you?”  

Rising from his chair and glaring at Mycroft as he was the devil incarnate and coldly utters “Fuck. Off.” before he beelines to the bedroom (he decided when he came back to Baker Street that Sherlock's was now ‘their’), paper still in his hands.

“What’s going on?” Greg asks as soon as he enters the room. He, of course, had overheard his friend exclamation and the bang of the bedroom door. “Did you get bad news?”

Mycroft smile was stiff as he pulls himself up. “No, no, nothing of the sort… It’s just that, it's been three months since my brother's death… and… you know how ‘anniversaries’ affect… people.” The disgust on the younger man's face wasn’t lost on Greg.

“Oh shit, is he all right?” Greg, automatically starts walking in the direction of the bedroom when Mycroft stops his movement. “Mycroft! I want to talk to him!”

“It’s better if he’s left alone a bit,” Knowing that John was probably hearing all of the words he was saying, he continues, “…he needs to calm down and think about all the work we have already done, all the work that’s left and the goal that we set for ourselves." 

“Holmes, I won’t say it twice, move…” Wanting to ‘delicately’ push the politician away, he raises his hand to touch the thinner man's shoulder. At his astonishment, Mycroft backs off promptly, a panicked look on his face.  _What the hell…._ “I won’t knock you over, don’t worry!”  

“I know… Sorry DI Lestrade. It was a reflex. I just prefer not to be touched.”  _Lame… But we are all emotional right now, it’s not the time to check if the not-so-perfect-anymore pills are doing their job well enough!_

Amused by the bogus excuse, Greg articulates loudly. “John, are you all right in there? Need company?”

John voice resonated through the door, “Don’t worry… Just need a bit of time to calm myself. Anderson should be here in half an hour, I will join you then… Is that ok?”

“Yeah, of course, mate.” Looking at Mycroft with defiance, the detective walks into the kitchen and starts prepping tea. In fact, Greg wasn’t unhappy to be quasi-alone with Sherlock’s brother. The strange feeling hadn’t come back strong since that spectacular night three months ago when he felt everything that the younger man feels on a daily basis: coldness, sadness, anxiety, anger, jealousy… but he wants to investigate this.  _It can only be him!_

He discreetly researched more about soulmates, wanted to learn if it was possible or not to get another one; If the association that helps bring soulmates together– which confirmed to Greg that his soulmate was dead years ago – had a lot of complaints of misjudgements, of bad pairings… Using the Met databases, he also secretly looked up the life of the woman who was supposed to be  _his_. Everything was normal, clean, nearly too clean… Nothing strange but a nagging little thought kept springing in his mind.  _What if? What if it wasn’t his soulmate that died in that car crash?_

The report her parents gave that a month before her death, she screams that she was dying, that it was as if she’s been stabbed in the back, that her head was pounding as if she was hungover…  That everything was blurry. But, even though they insisted, she didn’t want to put her name and symptoms in the database, thinking that it wasn’t romantic, that it was "better to let fate do its job". But the parents, not wanting to let down the poor soulmate of their daughter, contacted the association.  _How convenient!_  And, a few months later, they inherited a big quantity of cash. _How convenient, take two!_

Thinking about his discovery while the tea was stepping, Greg shakes his head.  _It’s fit my symptoms to a tick, how stupid I’ve been… The money… And I didn’t truly mourn her, I was sad a bit for the lost opportunity, but I wasn’t destroyed. The bond wasn’t already there, but I should have felt at least something! I’ve seen first-hand what the loss of a soulmate can turn someone into! The deep sadness in John's eyes sometimes..._ Removing the tea bags, he places two mugs on the table and one in front of the bedroom door before knocking softly. “John? Tea in front of the door…” Back at the table, he sits and takes one mug, pointing the other one to Mycroft… “For you, if you want.” The DI watches as Mycroft Holmes extends his hand towards the mug, not looking at him, before returning to the living room.

Greg, always up to a challenge and knowing that Holmes was hiding something about them, wasn’t able to stop a smugly smile from adorning his lips.  _This is going to be fun. I may have to scream at him at some point, but for now… Let’s wait._

_   _

John sits on the bed, shaking, anxious…Greg's voice arguing with Mycroft nearly prompt him to go back to the living room, to stop being childish but he stayed in Sherlock's room, surrounded by him after he confirms to Greg that everything was all right.  _They are both adults, they can manage… And if what I discussed with Anthea about them is real, the sooner they solve everything, the sooner it’s going to be easier for everyone!_ Falling on his back, he presses the sheets of paper to his heart… As if the cheap business grade paper and ink was able to convey Sherlock’s soul into his. Not being able to help his soulmate was slowly bringing John down.  _I’m a doctor, a soldier… I shouldn’t be in London all safe and warm in our flat when he’s risking his life_. 

Closing his eyes, he was daydreaming when Greg calls for tea. He sighs,  _Later_. Then his phone text alert chimes. It was Anthea…

> Everything ok John? I shouldn’t have… I think Mycroft was right. I’m sorry. A
> 
> No, I’m not sorry, you deserved to know the truth. A
> 
> Don’t worry, the situation is going to be fine. A

_It will not be nice at the office later…_  John thinks, as the image of Anthea pushing the sheets in his hand while Mycroft ordered her to stop not half-an-hour ago pop in his mind. Closing the phone, he turns on his side to read again the texts Anthea and Sherlock exchanged over the last few days. His eyes were jumping from a sentence to another, catching his lover-to-be's spirit hidden under platitudes about the weather or the local gastronomy. Short exclamations, many lines longs text… Sherlock wrote in the last days like he never did in the last three months. His stress as well as his exhaustion levels were clearly high.

_“Eat? Are you serious? How could I eat when I’m the middle of… things.”, “If I’m being honest, there’s a first for everything, I am not feeling perfect…”, “I’ve checked the last files, are you certain about this?”, “Sorry, wasn’t able to contact you over the last few days, doing slightly better now.”, “God, it’s only been three months and I’m already so tired, how many more?”, “Don’t fuss I went to a surgery. It was only a scratch. Only transport. Transport is fine.” “I miss him, so much… Don’t tell him ok, A?”, ”I was starting to blather non-sense to a man in a bar, I wasn’t drunk, but he was so… But I restrained myself. But you. I can talk to you, right? Tell me that I can talk to you?”, “He’s brilliant, wonderful, beautiful, perfect, he does not deserve me, not after everything.”, "A. I'm so tired sometimes..."_

Now sobbing in earnest, images of Sherlock injured without anybody to care for him, of him wandering alone spinning in his head…  _Zurich, Pisa, that little village in the south of France, Zagreb, Cape Town, Jaipur, Hong Kong… So many places, so many dangerous criminals._   John wasn’t an imbecile, he soon realized that the detective's job wasn’t to gather intel but to discreetly execute as many of them as possible. He confronted Mycroft and Anthea two months ago… The politician's vague response did nothing to calm him. The taller man remained stoic as the doctor was protesting that Sherlock wasn’t an agent, wasn’t a killer! He understands that under the circumstances, as many of the higher ranked officials at MI5 believed that Sherlock was a fraud and that Moriarty wasn’t real, it was the only option to eradicate the mastermind's web as quickly as possible! It was so hard! But nothing could be done until the detective's reputation was clear on all levels.

_Three bloody months!! _

He dries his tears at the sound of a soft knock on the door, it was Greg. “Philip is here, do you want to join us?” Putting the papers together before hiding them in a drawer _, I will gave them back to Mycroft later... maybe_ , John walks out of the room, leaning down to pick up the now cold cup of tea.

 

They sit around the kitchen table, a fresh pot of tea in the middle of the table. John rolls his eyes,  _How domestic!_ and gets up from his chair to get a good bottle of whisky, a gift from a client, as well as four tumblers. Everyone except Mycroft accepts, as he wants to stay in control as much as possible. Greg grins as he pours himself a finger or two.

Not wanting to linger too long,  _not with Lestrade acting like a bloody teenager,_  Holmes opens the discussion. “Thank you all, it’s been few week since our last meeting, let's exchange what we have learned and confirm what needs to be done in the following weeks.” He turns to Philip. “Anderson?”

“Oh… Yes, yes…” The ME was still uneasy around the distinguished man - caused by the sheer 'poshness of the man and a glimpse of his guilt - and he wasn't able to stop stuttering. “I’ve been over Sherlock first year cases… And I have tangible proof that he didn’t stage anything to make himself look good or that he committed any crime. I’m starting the work on the second year this week. And, of course, I am at the same time continuing to work on the last month's cases, the ones heavily intertwined with Moriarty. So far, I’ve been able to prove beyond any doubt that Sherlock didn’t do anything wrong. I think that before the end of the month, I will be able to go public.”

“No, you can't!” Greg protests. “You’ll lose your job!”

With an unusual assertive tone, Philip replies fiercely,“I don’t care.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get the info out there without involving your participation for now…” Mycroft smiles warmly, trying to calm the anxious man. “You are too valuable to our little gang, Anderson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, it’s a great praise coming from you.” Philip's cheeks turn a little red under the attention. “And… I want to thank you again for the top shelf computer, scanners and camera that you gave me, it’s helped tremendously as I can work discreetly from home.”

With a small shrug of dismissal, Mycroft continues. “Regarding… information and the public, I am happy to say that the little videos that we are leaking every week are starting to seriously rally those who interested in our cause. As you saw in the paper and on the news, the journalists are now waiting with trepidation for the ‘movie’ of the week and the tone of their presentation has passed from against my brother, to questioning with indifference to a great interest in re-opening Moriarty's case.”  The films, of course edited to avoid the dispersion of any unsavoury information or anything about Mycroft, were brought to the public's attention with the help of one of Sherlock ‘associates’.  _A better hacker than mine… I must find a way to bring him to my team!_ “John, I saw this morning that the number of hits and comments on your blog are sky rocketing?” 

Pushing aside his anger against Mycroft for the moment, John picked up his laptop on the table and opened his blog. “Yes… each post is getting more and more views, it’s exponential!" He was mostly writing about old cases or about his view upon Sherlock and Moriarty. "I can also confirm with satisfaction that the comments are now 85% for Sherlock, the 15% percent against him are generally quickly ‘destroyed’ by the others, I don’t have to reply anything! Sherlock fans are doing it for me!” Switching to another tab, he opens the top 10 Twitter hashtags in UK and, to his satisfaction, #IBelieveInSherlockHolmes and #MoriartyWasReal were still both in the top 10 as they were since they began their offensive.

“I know that many MPs received letters from citizen asking for the reopening of the cases… The next few weeks are going to be crucial.” Mycroft shares with the others before he turns towards Greg. “DI Lestrade?

“As you know the first sniper, O’Barry is in custody for 2 months now. He’s a well-known hitman but he’s not saying anything about Moriarty. That’s a bummer.” He pauses, taking a sip of his whisky. “The second one committed suicide or has been ‘terminated’ before we can get our hands on him… again a well-known hitman, but nothing that links him to Moriarty.”

“Any news on the last sniper?” John asks, anxious for Ms. Hudson.

“No, we are still looking for him… I’ve put his name on the list of most wanted by associated him with other crimes so everyone is actively looking for him. But, Moran is a very dangerous man.”

“I will see what I can do to help you locate him… Regarding O’Barry, don’t fuss if he’s taken over for questioning later this week. I’ll see what I... what we can do.” The men around the table remain silent at the thought of what Mycroft Holmes  _can do_. Rising from his chair, Sherlock's brother enters the bedroom only to leave less than a minute later with printed sheets of paper in hand and a warning glare to John, picked up his coat and umbrella before walking to the door. “Gentlemen, I will see you  in two weeks.”

Philip was the first to react. “What the hell does that man do for a living! And I thought that Sherlock was weird!”

 _And he’s my brother-in-law…_  John sighs silently, feeling oddly alone now that the transcript of Sherlock's conversations wasn’t in their bedroom anymore.

 _And he’s probably my soulmate… Shit._  Greg shivers at the thought.  _But he is quite a sexy bastard…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Moran as one of the snipper... Should I develop a little little bit or not? What do you think? Is it better to change the name for 'Smith' or w-ever and to forget about it?
> 
>  
> 
> \- Still working on the new chapter, going to take a little longer than usual... Life & stuffs, sorry! Morgane March 18


	29. You were meant to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emotional John is visited by Sherlock's parents.

Martha Hudson's old life wasn’t for the faint-of-heart, so she refused to leave Baker Street even when John and Mycroft explained everything about the snipers and how the plan is shaking up the viper's nest. ' _I won’t leave John all alone amongst my poor Sherlock’s things! Do you want scones with your tea, boys?'_ was the only acknowledgement they received that she actually listened to what they said. So, she remained in her flat, arguing every time when John gently tried to coerce her to go to her sister’s place, that she was safer surrounded by John, Greg and Mycroft and anyway, without her, England will fall! Mycroft increased the surveillance on Baker Street and life went on.

 

One afternoon, John was trying to relax after a big week at the surgery as well as hours of writing posts for his blog or responding to email from people with clues serious or not. In the living room, he sits in his chair, nods at Sherlock’s and with a mug of tea in hand he looks at the pile of notebooks on the table. Years of thoughts, of messages to his soulmate, of yearning, pain, sadness, joy… Since he learned for certain that Sherlock is  _his_  he never had the time to check them or to write more. Smiling at the idea that he finally had the time and summoned up the courage to go to the bank to retrieve them, he opens the oldest one.  

> 95/12/01 It’s so bloody cold this morning, are you in a sunny place? It would be great! OK, that’s a little bit egoistical. But, you know, South of France would be great, no need for the Caribbean or Hawaii. No, I don’t mind, you can even be in Russia, Scotland or Canada! I’ll love you as much, except with warmer clothes.

_ I was so innocent back then… before the war, before everything. It’s sad that Sherlock didn’t keep a journal, storing everything in his Mind Palace instead.  _ Putting down the used notebook, he took another one randomly.

> 99/03/15 I’m feeling so gloomy nowadays. I don’t think it’s me…. Are you all right? It’s really strange to always have my emotions separate in two, sometimes I need to focus very well to know if it’s me or you. But for months I can shake the impression that you are constantly sad, near depression. Take care of you my love, until I can share the burden you’ve got on your shoulders. I’m sending you all my love even if I have the impression that you are not getting anything coming from me. Because if you do, you’ll feel better instantly, with all the love and affection I’m sending you!

_ God… 1999. The year I nearly lost him.  _ Tears that he was unable to push away started pooling in his eyes. At that moment, his hate for Mycroft nearly rises nearly to the point of no return.  _All this because this bastard wasn’t able to deal with his own emotions!_ But he quickly calms down thinking how remorseful Sherlock’s brother has been in the last months. Always working on their plan, always looking for clues… for something that can help. Anthea was even worried that he was neglecting his own health by not sleeping or eating enough. He sighs profoundly, wiping away his tears.  _He was afraid for his sensitive little brother, didn’t want him to go through pain… What a mess… And that thing with Greg… We are so not out of the woods!_ Placing his notebook on the table, he was ready to look at another one when someone knocked on his door. He walks slowly, wondering who it was – Mrs. Hudson usually cried out a joyful yoo-hoo when she knocked. To his surprise, it was Sherlock's parents.

“Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes… Come in, come in… it’s been weeks!” They had seen each other a few times at Mycroft’s place in the last months, the Holmeses taking comfort in John’s presence.

“John…” Mrs. Holmes chides with a smile while she hugs John tightly.

“Violet, sorry!” he closes the door before letting them in the living. It was strange, their first time in Baker Street. Sherlock’s mother was looking everywhere, trying to fill herself with her son's aura, of her son's stories. Mr. Holmes, on the other hand, was only staying near his wife, watching over her to be ready to intervene if it became too much. “I was making tea, can I offer some?”

“That would be wonderful John, thank you, darling.” The lady replies as she lightly touches the music sheets.

“Do you play an instrument Violet?” John asks from the kitchen. The old lady chuckles sadly.

“Oh no, no, dear, never been able to. Don’t know where that’s from… I think it appeals to his logical side – a perfect note is only the combination of precise actions after all -  as well as his well hidden soft poetic side…” She was now smiling, taking her husband's hand to bring him near her as she points to a shelf where her books where all aligned, well-loved and full of little notes in red or blue. Seeing that the author's name was Violet, John realizes that it was Sherlock’s mother's legacy to the mathematical community.

“I never knew, Violet, he never told me that you had your own shelf on our bookcase!”

She chuckles, putting the book down. “He always challenged me, I’ll need to have a little conversation with him on his... return... about the notes he wrote…” She suddenly become quiet when her eyes fall on the pile of notebooks on the coffee table. “John… is this…”

“Yes, Violet, it’s the notebooks I was talking to you about.” After a pause, he continues softly. “It’s really personal and I don’t think I want nobody except Sherlock to read them… But you may ask all the questions you want.”

The older couple sits on the sofa, holding hands. Little pearls of tears were fluttering in Violet eyes, the difficulty of knowing her younger child's time alone in hostile territory was slowly growing week after week. They clung to the hope that as long as John did not feel that Sherlock was dead… Opening her bag, the detective mother took a well tattered notebook. “Let’s compare notes then…”

 

Mrs. Holmes' notebook was full of little snapshots of Sherlock's childhood that were a balm on John’s heart. Silly things like when he broke his arm at 6 by falling from a tree, or more serious like how he nearly died from a bad case of pneumonia at the age of 9… When he left for boarding school, Violet continued to write down everything that happen in her son’s life.  They talked for hours, looking for similarities, trying to understand the first time the link appeared as the sooner it shows, the stronger it will become. John was laughing about how the girls were faking it in hopes of being his soulmate when he broke his leg in high school – skimming over Sarah’s scheme – when Violet blanched.

“Honey, are you all right. Drink your tea, darling…” but she pushes the cup, trying to locate something in the notes she wrote about Sherlock.

“In what year was it, John?” She was nearly shaking, waiting for the doctor's reply.

“What is it, Violet?” The woman didn’t react to her husband's distressed tone. She was waiting.

“I was 17… So 1991, 1992… Why?” He was frowning, not knowing why it was so important.

Smiling, tears in her eyes, Violet opens her notebook. “November 14, 1991. The college nurse called because Sherlock had unexplained pain in his left leg.  I hope it’s not those bullies that attacked him again, I thought it was better. I’ll check on him Friday night when he’s going to be home. November 15, 1991. The poor boy is still in pain, had to skip school and come back early, even if he takes meds and that I give him a good massage, this is really weird.  It’s definitely not the bullies as I can’t see any marks or anything on his skin and he told me that he doesn’t know what’s happening except that ‘he’s growing and that I should stop fussing’.  Could it be? No, this is silly, he’s only 13. If he’s not feeling better tomorrow, I’ll bring him to the doctor. November 16, 1991. He’s doing better, it’s like nothing happened. I’ve got that feeling that… But it can’t be, he’s so young! He’s so against the mere idea of having a soulmate that I can’t talk to him about this for now. The first manifestations are often of a physical nature, if it’s meant to be, the emotional link will follow in due time.” She closes her notebook and looks into John’s eyes, waiting for his reaction.

“But… but… 13 and 17… it’s really really young, one per one-hundred chance for soulmates...” 

“You were meant to be ,John, and nothing will keep you apart!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small one before going back to the main event...


	30. Don't rush anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 more months have passed…

“All the proofs on Moriarty are now available on the dark-web, thanks to your contact Mr. Holmes, and I know that it already stirring things… The BBC is planning an exposé on the subject, most of the national newspaper are talking about Sherlock and Moriarty on a daily basis.” He puts today’s papers on Greg kitchen table. “All in favour of Sherlock.” He smiles, the satisfaction of being able to actually do something clearly showing on his face. “If what you said when we arrived Mr. Holmes is real, about the parliament on the verge of asking a public inquiry on this affair, we are on the way of a victory!”

“Mycroft, you still have nothing from O’Bary?” Greg asks, not knowing what to do next now that the public part of the plan is well on its way. “Is he still remaining silent?” Moriarty’s sniper has been in Holmes ‘care’ for seven weeks, but he won’t bulge. It was more and more difficult for Greg to turns his eyes, knowing fully well that the discussion that Holmes’ team have with the criminal are less civilized that what the law authorized. 

“Nothing more, that what I already told you.” The politician tone was weary, the weight of everything on his shoulder on top of his usual responsibilities dragging him down slowly. “He doesn’t know Moriarty, he doesn’t know who hired him… At least he stopped saying that Sherlock was the one who paid him.” His hand passes warily on his forehead, trying to push away a migraine.

Greg frowns as Mycroft’s pain become obvious, not liking the look on the younger man face. “Are you all right Mycroft?”

Snapping out of it, he smiles and nods absentmindedly before adding “So… This is a dead end for now. But it proves one terrible thing.” When the three other men turn to look at him he continues. “Moriarty hold on his minions is absolute even in death or he was clever enough to hide any link that can bring us to him.  Sadly for us, it's probably a mix of both.  Gregory, any new on locating Moran?” _Gregory? I must call him DI Lestrade... What the hell am I doing?_

“No… he’s a slimy bastard for sure! Everyone is looking for him, he’s on the list of the British most wanted.” He sights and closed his eyes a moment. “God, if only we can know if it’s still a threat or not!”

John, who was still silent, raises his head and intervenes for the first time in the conversation. “Yes, he is.” Not responding to the pressing questions his friends were asking, he walks to take his computer and opens his blog. “I’ve received a message yesterday, a private message, from an account that was now closed. Anthea checked thoroughly and wasn’t able to find a trace… It’s really short but it says ‘Really funny your little  _croisade_  Doctor Watson. The deal was to kill you if the detective was still alive, but if you are trying to dig up stuff about him, the deal is off. Do you really think that Sherlock Holmes brother will be able to protect you, the policeman and that poor old lady for long?  Think about it, Watson, before going on with your little vendetta.’ That’s all, no signature but it’s clearly him.”

“You should have contacted us right away!” Mycroft objects forcibly, looking at Greg for reinforcement. His migraine was now going on stronger, his neck stifling as well as is troubled vision making it hard to concentrate.  _Get a grip! I should go to bed right after… but no I must check on Sherlock schedule for the next days._

“Yes! What the hell were you thinking! Putting Mrs. Hudson life at risk like that!” Greg was sternly looking at John, not believing what he heard! “What were you thinking! Bloody hell mate, we’re in the middle of a war and you withdraw information!” His attention was apparently directed upon the doctor, but his mind keeps shifting toward Mycroft.  _What’s going on with him, he does not look fine… it’s more that the lack of sleep._  The man was now standing up, ready to go. As usual, he was the one who call the end of the meeting…

“John, please come at my office tomorrow, I will send a car at 9h30.” His pain was clearly visible in his eyes, but the doctor restrains his self of calling him on that in front of the other.  _I will talk to him about this tomorrow… After Anthea and I have been chided like children of course._ Before he opens the flat door, Holmes turns one last time. “Thanks to you three, I think we are on our way to salvage my brother reputation and… memory. I can’t thank you enough.” And just like that he lefts.

As soon as the door closed, the malaise that was slowly building within Greg bursts, as if Mycroft finally let the pain win over his will now that he was alone.  _Am I crazy?_   Once Philip left – he always leaving before Greg to let him talk to John alone – Greg looks at his friend. “If I don’t talk about how bloody ruthless you’ve been to do not call me immediately when Moran poke you on your blog, do you fancy a pint?”

Few minutes later they were sitting in a secluded booth in Greg’s favourite pub with a nice pint each. John, knowing what it’s all about, was waiting with an open encouraging smile.

“Mate… I think I’m mad.” Greg quickly took few sips of his beer.  _No, I need something stronger!_   He rises to go to the bar to get two tumblers of whisky. Once back at his place and only after the warmth of the alcohol as gave him courage, he continues. “Mad… For real. Utterly mad.”

“You must be more specific if you want me to help you…”  _Come one… I won’t say it for you._

“I’m feeling so selfish… thinking about me when you… when you lost Sherlock so terribly.”

Feeling once more horrible about the obligation of keeping Greg in the dark about Sherlock fate, John tries to help him say the words. “So… it’s about love? Do you find someone? You know you can talk to me about anything, I can’t ask to people around me to stop being in love because I’ve… lost mine.”

“I know, it’s just that it’s so bizarre… I don’t know where to start.” The detective remains silent few minutes, looking at the ice melting in his empty tumbler, before starting again in a nearly murmur. “You know that I am a gifted but that the woman that was destined to me died in an accident before we met?” As John nods, Greg continues, more confidant now that he starts talking. “I was sad, of course I was sad, but it wasn’t life chattering you know? You are courageous, and your focus is now on salvaging Sherlock reputation, but sometimes your eyes are so sad John, I can see that each fibre of who you are is longing for him, for what you could have been.” He puts is head in his hands. “I never mourn for her, I meet a woman later that I married, but it never worked, it was never perfect… It’s like if my heart was aware that someone was waiting for me. I pushed that idea many times, thinking that it was foolish, that it was unheard off to have two soulmates. That I lost my chance…” Tears were now flowing from is eyes, finally unable to deal with amount of stress of the last months as well as the troubled feelings against which is mind is always fighting.

“Greg… Breath, relax… everything is going to be okay.”

“No, you don’t understand!” Lestrade rises his head to look in John’s eyes defiantly. “I know it’s impossible, but a little after Sherlock disappearance, I start feeling… things. Things that I shouldn’t.”

“What kind of things?” The doctor asks softly.

“First it was only sensation, out of nowhere. Weariness after a good night of sleep, exaltation or anger while trying to relax in front of the TV. Then, one night…” Greg eyes were surveying the pub, but they were still alone in their corner.

“One night…”

“That first meeting at my place, it was strange… It was as if I was in his head.” He sips his pint a moment before adding. “In Mycroft Holmes head…”

“Oh… That’s weird. Really?” John asks, knowing that the question was expected. “What was in his head?”

Looking at his friend with an accusative glare, Greg articulates “Is it normal that I have the feeling that this is not new information for you?”

“I will explain everything in a minute, but could you please be more specific? What did you feel exactly?” John was talking in an equal tone, softly, not wanting to alienate his friend.

“You remember that I said that I was commenting on Sherlock's sexiness… At that moment I felt a wave of jealousy, I don’t know why but I automatically turned to look at Mycroft and… his eyes were… I don’t know how to be described. It was pain, hurt… I made a joke that I never been attracted to him, that he was only a friend and the feeling of possessiveness disappeared replace by calm than anxiety. Later, as Mycroft talk about the plan, I felt the sadness, the resolution than the anger. It wasn’t my emotions, I know that. And it was fitting perfectly with Mycroft attitude.” Slouching on the back of the booth, Greg laughs sadly and tell John of his discovery about the woman that was supposed to be his.  “That woman, it was a fake. I don’t understand.  And now… Of all the man and woman around the world, my soulmate is Mycroft Holmes. The Ice Man.” Finishing his pint, Greg look steadily at John. “And now, mate, it’s your turn. Why does my little tale do not seem to surprise you a lot?” 

“I don’t know everything… But what I know is that…” And John explains what he knows about Mycroft Holmes, his relations with emotions, the suppressant… Everything except what he’s done to Sherlock.

“The bastard! He’s so afraid of his own heart that he trashed my life! He’s so egoistical that he won't allow someone in his life and condemned me to a loveless life!” Rushing to get two more pints, he came back to the table still muttering against that “posh sexy bastard that won’t know what’s coming up for him!”

“Greg, don’t rush anything mate… We are near the end of our operation, you don’t want to spoil everything by alienating Mycroft Holmes, no?” The doctor was looking at his friend with concern, afraid of the resolution in his demeanour as well as a twinkling in his eyes.

“Don’t worry John, I’m not going to rush anything. On the contrary, I’m going to go painfully slow…” With a crooked smile, he starts to drink his pint without adding anything to calm his now nervous friend. John was going to argue with Greg about how 'now wasn't the time to play games with the most powerful man in UK', when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Mycroft. 

>  We lost his trace. MH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God! It's been a whole week and I'm still working on the new chapter... Life is hectic nowadays sorry! But it should be ready in few days, stay tune! Morgane March 28


	31. Just a soldier...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night out at the pub with a troubled DI, who is bit more than fed up with the "Mycroft" situation, becomes tense as John receives a text from Mycroft letting him know that they had 'lost' his soulmate.

Getting to his feet in a rush, John exits the pub quickly, leaving Greg behind. As he runs to get a cab, rare so late in the middle of the week, a black sedan stops at the corner of the street. Walking quickly to Mycroft’s car, he didn’t realize that Lestrade was just behind him. As he jumps in the car, where Anthea was anxiously waiting, his movements were interrupted by a fuming yet still smugly smiling detective.

“What’s going on… You won’t hide things from me again, John!” He pushes his friend further into the car and slides next to him. “Anthea, always a pleasure.”

“DI Lestrade… Good evening. But, I have to insist, it’s something between Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. I’ll ask the chauffeur to drive you home and…”

Not wanting to be left out, Greg demands with as much clarity as his inebriated state allowed.“Is it Moran?” As Anthea and John remained silent, he continues, “is it about… me?”

“No, no, not at all, Inspector,” the woman protests. “It’s just that…”

John had suddenly had enough of the lies, raises his hand to stop her and asks, “Are there any cameras or recording devices in this car? Honestly?”

“No, I swear. But…” Acting quickly even with his hazy head, the doctor pinches Anthea's Blackberry. “What? Give me that, John!”

“I want your word that you won’t say tell Mycroft what I’m about to say.” The man's  serious demeanour didn’t leave any doubt about what he wants to say to Greg, the panic rises in Anthea eyes.

“No, you can’t… John… think of the consequences. You can’t! Especially now that…”

Something in the eyes of the young woman provokes a slight hesitation and John stay silent.  _What was I thinking? Sherlock’s safety, Greg’s and Ms. Hudson’s security… all depend on us staying silent._   Greg, who was still waiting expectantly, nudges the doctor arm.

“John! What it is?”

Giving the phone back to Anthea, John grumbles something about Greg and Mycroft being soulmates and that he wanted to surprise Mycroft by bringing Greg with him.

“But I already figured that out; it’s not a secret!” The DI was trying to put his foggy thoughts together.  _Something is not right!_  “And why Anthea is all stressed out about this! How can it lead to bad consequences?”

Anthea, jumping into the conversation to stop the madness, interrupts. “It’s because my boss needs all his concentration right now, when this is all over, there will be time to work things out between you and Mycroft.”  _Which is in fact, kind of true_! She looks outside. _Thank God we are finally at the detective’s place!_  “Here you go, good night, Sir.”

The rush of cold air wakes Greg a little, helping him to refocus his mind a bit. “Okay, so… good night, John.”

“Good night, Greg, are you sure you are all right?”

“Yes, yes… of course. I’m able to open my own bloody door. Look! I’ve got my keys!” He shakes his set of keys in front of the frowning driver and takes wobbly steps to his front door.  _But I still don’t understand… there's something…_ As the car left the curb Greg suddenly turns on his heels, dropping his keys. “Why the hell does Mycroft want to talk to John at two in the morning?”

 

As the car was rushing through the deserted streets, John remains silent, knowing too well that Anthea won’t say a thing until they were securely in Mycroft’s office.  _We lost his trace_ … The sentence was repeating itself in his head…  _We lost his trace… How is it possible? It was their job to keep eyes on him! I trusted them!_  The PA gently places her hand on John’s arm to get his attention as they entered the underground parking.

“Come… Mycroft is waiting for you.”

He passes through security rapidly and discreetly as only a few employees remained at this hour of the night. Once in Holmes' office, Anthea softly closes the door behind us.  The politician had his back to the door, his attention on a map of Central Europe, small dots flashing on the digital image. The stress was clearly showing in his rigid stance and the way his eyes were surveying the map hopping from one place to another, frowning. Trying to help the taller man to stay focused on the problem, John urges his heart to focus on staying calm, as a soldier waiting for orders. He walks to get closer to the map. “Mycroft, what’s happening! Where is he…” John, knowing that was  _nearly_  as hard on Sherlock’s brother as it was on him, spoke softly. “Tell me… please.” His voice breaks a little, unable to maintain his soldier’s persona. “I… I need to know.”

“Oh… John… I… I… don’t know. The last few weeks everything was going as smoothly as possible under the circumstances, but we knew that the next target required him to be completely silent.” The usually cold man's voice was shaky, "The risks were high, the infiltration needed a more experienced agent. He was supposed to contact us a day ago and…”

“What? A day ago! Why are you telling me only now? _God! I’m trying to stay calm, to be a team player… but… Fuck!_ ”Suddenly furious, and still a bit drunk, the doctor's resolution to be patient vanished. “Why didn’t you tell me about this HOURS ago!”

The exhausted man,  _this sodding day will never end,_  explains in a resigned voice. “The rules are to declare someone missing 48 hours after a missed  _rendez-vous_ , Sherlock has been late for his last check-point for less than 12 hours so…”

“What changed then? Why did you contact me if you’ve got apparently no reason to worry as his situation shouldn’t be serious before at least another 24 hours?” The sarcasm, anger and deep hurt in John’s voice wasn’t lost to Mycroft and Anthea. “For you, he’s only one agent among others now? Not your brother, not my soulmate anymore… Only a soldier in the field!” An already distressed Mycroft left the office at these words, leaving the doctor alone with Anthea.

“John! How can you say things like that, you know how he loves his brother! How he is constantly feeling guilty!” She was looking at the doctor severely. “Sit down, I will get you a strong coffee then we will talk about what we know.”

 

Later, after he smoked few cigarettes, Mycroft came back to the room, more composed. “Sorry about that, I add something to do elsewhere. Can we go on?”  

“Yes, sorry… what I said was uncalled for. I know that you care about your brother. It’s just… it’s just that how is it possible?”  

“Sherlock was on schedule over the last few weeks, as you know, the assignments were being taken care of, the contacts we have were reliable, no issues getting to the target… everything went as it should.” Closing his eyes for a moment, the vision of his brother lost somewhere, captured or worse, dead, flooding his mind. Shaking himself mentally,  _thinking like that won’t help him_ ,  he continues. “We knew that the last stretch of his journey in Serbia was going to be difficult… The chances of capture were high, so he had to be on his own as much as possible. He ditched his burner phone after one last text, and was expecting to meet his next contact in Belgrade five days later, after his mission in the middle of the Carpathian mountains.” He points out a red dot to John on the map. “This is the last place he was when we talked to him… that orange point is the target.” Using a pointer, he quickly draws a circle around the area.  “It doesn’t look like a large area… but it’s the equivalent of losing someone in the Highlands.”

“What about the target, is it possible to know if they captured him?” John, now fully sober, was becoming frantic. “Enough! I’m going to go after him! I won’t let him be alone… We don’t know how long he has been missing, maybe he was captured days ago!”

“We know it’s pretty recent.” Anthea says, not looking at his boss.

“How could you know?” John was still trying to find something, a clue, a missing dot on the map.

“If he’s captured… he won’t be able to take the suppressant…  a dose usually loses all efficacy after 24 hours at its best… we know that…”

“I haven't felt anything... so it’s recent.”  _Thank God…_  “But what’s can we do? You must send someone to help him!”  _I can go… I need to go…_ John was screaming in his head, in his heart.  _I must do something!_

“We know that it’s distressing, but we can’t risk it. I have sent mercenaries to Serbia a few hours ago, they are currently looking for him, without them knowing who they are looking for, of course.” Mycroft's tone was definitive. “There’s something else… Moran is on his way back to London, but we don’t know where he is.” He sighs impatiently, angry at the sheer incompetence of the team in charge of locating the sniper. “He’s not far, that’s for sure, we have images of him an hour ago in the suburbs…”

“God! Is he after us?” Fear was building up inside John… on the verge of panic, he forces himself to stay as calm as possible. He needed to be calm enough to be able to feel anything coming from Sherlock if his suppressant failed, and more importantly to avoid sending him wave of bad vibes.  _He does not need that!_

“We don’t know, John, and I really don’t like not knowing…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one sorry, I will try to go back to my regular publishing schedule now that the madness is over! Happy Chocolate Day tomorrow everyone!


	32. They both need us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Greg and Mycroft all need a quiet morning after that night...

Holmes’ car left John at Baker Street in the morning. Even with the threat of Moran's menacing presence in London, the doctor wasn’t ready to leave the flat again to hide away at Mycroft’s place _. I will fight him on my own ground! Especially now that Mrs. Hudson is away._  The night before, she joined her sister for a cruise in the Greek islands. The security around the flat was even higher than before, but it was better to take no chances. What John read about the ex-soldier was horrible;  his coldness, his arrogance regarding his own skills, the reverent but frightened tone of the criminals who had worked with him… none of it was good news! _Moran is a mad man!_

__Once inside, he changes yesterday's clothes for fresh ones after a quick shower then put the kettle on. _I’ll check my email and the blog before going for a nap… I am knackered!_ While he was waiting for the water, he tries to focus his soul on Sherlock, trying to pick up on something… anything! Other than a light unusual buzz, he felt nothing.  _That’s good, no? That means that he’s still on his suppressant so he’s not under the control of someone?_ He knew that his soulmate was at least alive as he wasn’t feeling any of the deepest sadness or the feeling that something was pulled off his own soul, something other gifted described after the loss of their love.     _ _

As he opens his computer, John’s cell chimes. It was Greg. 

>  Hello mate, back at 221b? GL
> 
> Yes. I returned a bit after we left you. JW

It was a lie, of course, but how could he justify an all-night meeting with Andrea and Mycroft! 

> And what was the reason for His Majesty'sconvocation? GL
> 
>  Don’t talk like that… You know you’re a consort now lol JW
> 
>  Real funny. GL
> 
>  So, what was the urgency? GL
> 
>  Nothing, really, something about Sherlock’s will. That’s all. Family stuff. JW 

_More lies… It can’t go on like this! I need the support of my friends! How can Greg understand what I’m going through if all he knows is lies upon lies!_ He decides to change the subject. 

>  So, are you feeling all right? You were really pissed yesterday, not feeling too old this morning? JW
> 
>  I am still able to drink my fair share of alcohol! Don’t worry for me, I just finished my second coffee and I’m ready to go to work! GL
> 
>  Good then! Oh and be careful, that Moran bastard is near London. Mycroft got a report about him last night. JW 
> 
>  Thanks mate, I will. Hope we catch the man asap. Talk to you later. GL 
> 
>  Bye. JW

Putting his phone down, John opens his blog to look at the comments and replies to some of them. His private box was blinking as a new message was waiting.  

> Tsk tsk… He’s alive. The deal is off. Say goodbye to your friend, doctor Watson

Taking his phone, John texted then called Greg again and again. Until the message he received was “The user you want to reach is no more connected to the network.”  _No! Not Greg!_  Phone in hand, he called Mycroft while he runs out of the flat. 

  

_Oh my God… my head is hurting as Hell. I need to pee. I need paracetamol. And water and coffee and something greasy._ He sighs, opening his eyes carefully he checks his phone.  _Already 7:30… Arggggg I want to stay in bedddd. I’m really not twenty anymore._ Rising –  _at least I made it to the bed!_  – he walks to the bathroom, avoiding looking at his probably puffy face.  _I bet Mycroft always looks pristine when he get up. I would love to mess him  up a bit and… No, no, no, not now. Not ever. I must remember: I hate the bastard! The sexy, bossy, posh bastard._ Rolling his eyes, he tries to think about something else while he jumps in the shower.  _I wonder if he has freckles all over his body_. While he shaves.  _Does his beard turn red when he does not shave for a while, it often happens with fair skin and auburn hair?_  Selecting clothes in his closet. D _oes he choose his own clothes or does he hire a shopper at Harrod’s_? While making his coffee on his precious expresso machine.  _Does he like good coffee or is he more a tea person?_ And above all, underlying everything:  _why does he needed John in the middle of the night?  
_

Frowning, he turns on his phone and texts his friend. After a few anodyne exchanges, he closes his phone and took his coat before heading to the door.  It was still early; the street was silent with the exception of the bin collector. Looking around him, force of habit being a cop for more than twenty years, he spots an unusual ray of light coming from the roof of a house near his flat. Turning his gaze to watch with more attention, he looks at his phone that was buzzing. It was John. 

> Moran is after you. Stay inside! JW

Not hesitating, the detective gets down near his car right on time as a bullet passes right over his head.  _John’s text saved me!_ He was calculating his chance to stay alive long enough to run to his door when a bullet hits him right in the middle of his chest. As he falls on his back, his phone dropped on the cement exploding in pieces. _Shit._

 

Mycroft Holmes was still in office, thinking about the possibility of going home instead of napping an hour or two on his sofa. Overall, the discussion with John has been as expected. Indignation, anger, desire to be on the next plane for Serbia… and resilience.  In their last report, the team of mercenaries confirmed that they were on the ground and actively looking for the missing agent.  _They are the best, highly recommended, they are our best hope_. Glancing over the agenda items that are going to be discussed in the next Minister of State for Policing and the Fire Service meeting, he was satisfied that his brother was finally going to be talked about.  “In face of the new proof showing the possibility of the criminal known as James Moriarty was real, should Sherlock Holmes be pardoned posthumously.”  _Of course, it was only the ministry, but a complete absolution from them would help to ease the bargaining with MI5._

Picking up an umpteenth cup of tea, Mycroft was going back to his work when a sharp pain in his sternum hits him enough to shake his precious porcelain cup and saucer out of his trembling hand. He was gasping for air, panic rising tenfold when his phone starts to chime on his mahogany desk. John’s number was flashing, but Holmes wasn’t able to take the phone as his feet were glued in place, his tall frame falling slowly on itself as he drops to the carpeted floor.  _Gregory, no, not Gregory_ … Tears start to fall freely as a light moaning escaped his lips.  _Not him, please God, not him_ … After a minute that felt like hours, he tried to get up as Anthea stormed into the office.

“Sir, DI Lestrade has been shot by Moran in front of his building.” Realizing that her boss wasn't able to get up on his own, she runs to help him to his chair. “He’s on his way to the hospital at the moment, I took the liberty of diverting the ambulance to our place.”

“Is he… is it serious?” Holmes tone was nearly pleading, his eyes lock on Anthea’s. 

“It’s too early Mister Holmes, Mycroft… We don’t know. He’s still alive at the moment.” She pauses and rushes to give a glass of water to her boss, “The car is waiting, you can leave for the hospital when you feel ready.”

“Thank you, Anthea… My phone. It keeps ringing, it’s John. » He inhales painfully. “Could you please… I know I ask too much of you but… could you…”

With a sad smile, Anthea took the phone. “John? It’s Anthea.”

 

The doctor’s cab was turning onto Greg’s street as he was hanging up. The police cars were everywhere, neighbors called them after the gun shoot, and an impressive security perimeter was already taking shape. As he jumps out of the car, a policeman stops John. “It’s a crime scene, sir, you can’t go there.” 

“Lestrade… is he… is he alive?”

“Oh, sorry, sir, didn’t realize you are a friend. I can’t say much, he’s going to the hospital right now.” Looking around as journalists and more police cars add to the chaos in the street, he apologizes to John before running to control the crowd. 

Turning around, John watches the nearby building, looking for the best place for a sniper. The SWAT was of course doing the same, pushing away the crowd and pressing them to go inside their homes.  As he was walking away to go back to his cab, trying to find the hospital were Greg was going, his phone chimes. With trembling hands, he looks at the unknown caller ID.  

> One down, Dr. Watson. I hear that Greece is lovely at this time of the year. 

His anger, already pretty high, rises a notch at the casual menace to Mrs. Hudson. He was now jogging to the taxi when a black car arrived at the corner of the street. Anthea steps out of the sedan swiftly, putting a hand on John's shoulder to help him calm himself. “Mister Holmes is in the car, we’re going to the hospital. Stay strong, Doctor Watson, they both need us at the moment…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeframe is about 20 minutes... doesn't take that much to turn everything upside down :-( Thanks God Mrs Hudson is somewhere in the Mediterranean sea drinking sangria!
> 
> BTW, hello to anyone that's still reading that story! (Got the feeling that I'm writing for 10 persons - Yes! I'm talking about YOU! - lol but that's ok, you're the best!) 
> 
> Only few chapters to go, I won't go over 40, it's a promise!


	33. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A view of what happened to Sherlock... and news about Greg.

6 days ago...

The plunk of his dismantled phone hitting the bottom of the garbage can echoes in the small alley. But nobody was there to ask question, not even a homeless person. Sherlock was alone. Alone as he hasn’t been in the last months now that his link with Anthea was severed. Back in the street, he walks a bit before dropping the destroyed SIM card in the sewer. 

 _That's it. It's real now. The last stretch has begun._  

His next target was one of the hardest but the key to the destruction of the rest of the network. Wandering in Bucharest, not even looking at the beauty of the city, Sherlock’s mind was already focusing on his plan on how to reach the smuggling lord. The main difficulty was that the man, Stonajovic, was mad about his security, paranoid even. Like many of the scenarios Sherlock had come up with since his crusade started, his plan was beautifully simple. Difficult and risky for sure but simply at his chore.  _I need something to smuggle, I need to make him want me! I need to become the prize he wants!_

He’s been planning his coup for weeks, wanting everything to be perfect, flawless, impressive.  _The perfect business card!_ Turning on Strada Rossetti, he finally stands in front of The National Museum of Art of Romania.  _Strange to see it in person, just like that, after having worked with maps and blue prints for weeks._ The once lived in palace was massive and intricate, a complexed maze of rooms, corridors and stairs. Priceless collection with a security system, though not quite the best in the world, was still impressive.  _Yes,_  Sherlock thought with a smile,  _it's going to be perfect._ Later that night, after reviewing everything for the umpteenth time, he went to bed in the small generic hostel near the museum.  _I need to be in top condition for tomorrow._

 

His strategy was apparently faultless. Going into the museum for the last shift before it closed, at 6PM, wearing a guard's outfit that he had lifted from the laundering service that the museum used. The key was to do so at the last moment to be certain that no one will know about the missing uniform. As he makes sure that a man working near the French Art Gallery was missing, sick at home poor man – he shouldn’t have had that last beer, offered by a stranger, nobody asked questions, happy to have an extra pair of hands. _Hello my name is Petr Agimov. Yes, I’m new, I was working at the Zambaccian Branch until yesterday, I’m here to replace Alexander._ Lying was so easy... ‘Petr’ helped to hasten the visitors to the exit as the museum closed for the night, closing everything behind him as per protocol, working seamlessly and acting the perfect museum guard, knowing his part perfectly.

Once the lights start switching off, he simply hides himself in an elevator shaft. And he waited… and waited…

 

As he was in the dark in a greasy and dusty place,  _far from a clean laser protected shaft like in John’s spy movies_ , Sherlock for once took the time to reflect on what had happened since he fell from Bart's roof.  _When I fell away from John..._  The first few targets were easy enough, his mind able to dissociate his actions from who he is really. To separate what the _agent_ was doing from what the _detective_ would have done. Pushing away the blood, the face distorted by death, the anger, the smell of death he caused.  _No, not me, the agent._  To keep up the charade, he continues to take the suppressants religiously, not wanting John to feel when the  _agent_  was hurt and the  _detective_  not wanting to feel John's distress.  _It wasn’t that bad, that ‘hurting’ bit_ … He flexes his right hand, satisfied that the two fingers he broke a month ago were now perfectly sound.  _I will be able to play violin for John…_

Sometimes when he overslept, falling exhausted in a secure place for twenty-four hours, feelings of love, longing and worries sneak into his soul. Those moments, after he indulges for a few minutes while trying to keep his emotions at check, don’t last long as he usually quickly gets out of bed for a double dose of suppressant. The idea of John waiting for him, that the connection was becoming stronger and stronger – when the suppressant stopped working for a few perfect moments – was a comforting thought that was keeping him going.  _My lighthouse in the tempest…_   _Oh God, I’m starting to be as poetic as him, unbelievable_. He chuckles silently, looking at his watch.  _It’s nearly time._

 

It went swiftly and, just an hour later, he was in another hotel room… with a set of two beautiful Monets. Both of artistic and immeasurable monetary value. No casualties, only two unconscious guards. The alarm was properly shut down, the guards would wake up in an hour or two with an headache.  _A good clean job, maybe I could rebrand myself as thief extraordinaire._  He was feeling almost giddy.   _Step one, done. Now… I wait for them to find me._ The subtle clues he left for the proper people to find does the trick and after a nap of few hours, someone knocks at his door.

“Our boss wants to see you. Get your things, and the paintings.” A man dressed in business casual orders without further introduction while his bodyguard enters the small hotel room.

“My mother always told me not to speak to stranger.” Sherlock replies with a smile while walking to the bathroom for his daily dose of suppressant as well as his gun. “So, first of all, who are you? 

“The PA of your new boss if you know what’s good for you.” The bodyguard places the detective's bag on the bed. “Come on, get your things together we’re leaving in 2 minutes.”

Not wanting to look too eager,  _step two: convince them that I do not want to meet Stonajovic_ , Sherlock rises his gun resolutely “No.” and everything goes to black.  _God, it's hard to play dumb!_

 

 _Oooooh my back… That’s horrible_ .  _Can’t believe_   _I actually miss Mycroft's sedans._ Sherlock was on the floor of a van, eyes blindfolded tightly, and feeling the stiffness of his limbs, he’s probably been there for nearly three hours.

“You’re up, finally! Sorry about that, but you were talking too much and my bodyguard doesn’t like that.” He laughs, pointing at the bulky man, “He don’t say that much, but he’s extremely loyal to me and to our boss.” Putting a cigarette to his mouth, he looks at Sherlock pensively. “Where are you from, your accent is nearly perfect but your Romanian has an edge of… I don’t know which accent…”

“I don’t have to talk to you!” Sherlock sputters.

“Hum… I say that you’re wrong. Anyway, we’re almost there. So you still have thirty minutes to decide if you want to collaborate or not.” Pointing to the paintings that were carefully package in the corner of the van. “Anyway, we’ve already won as the Monet are ours.”

Perfectly simulating doubt and worry, Sherlock laced his voice with a bit of a tremor “You can’t take them, I…, I worked hard to get them!”

“We know, but we want them.” The PA was still smiling, blowing his cigarette smoke in his captive's face.

Knowing that it was ( _finally!_ ) the time to be cocky, the detective raises his head as much as he was able. “Take them then, I don’t want them now that your gorilla's filthy hands have spoiled them!” Muttering he add, “There’s plenty of museums with even better paintings.”

“And this is why we want to talk to you, Petr. If it’s your real name, of course.” Spitting on the man's shoes defiantly, Sherlock remains silent for the rest of the ride.

 

_ 2 days later _

_Well… Didn’t go as it was supposed to. Totally screwed up options 2, 3 and 5_. Sherlock wasn’t usually an avid curser, it was John’s job being a soldier and all, but the only words that was spinning in his head constantly as he was rushing to get out of the compound alive was ‘shit’.   _Shit. Shit. Shit. There’s always something!_  

> He was nearly there, after he left the smuggling expert alternately cajoled then menaced him with infinite cruelty before showered in again in lavish attention for nearly 48 hours, they were exactly where Sherlock want them to be. The pact was done, he was alone with the man and only one of his guards, drinking upscale vodka and laughing over lewd jokes like old friends. He realized quickly how the man was planning to celebrate their association, if the interested gaze over his lithe yet strong body was any clue, so he suggested that the bodyguard left to allow them more… intimacy. Desire was pooling in the criminal's eyes as a tell-tale bulge appeared quickly in his trousers as he pushed away his reluctant bodyguard.
> 
> Faking interest like a really good prostitute – that week he passed hiding in Red Light district in Amsterdam was paying off – he slowly rode the man, pulling his hair slightly. Once his attention was solely what the detective's hands was doing on his torso, Sherlock took the small but deadly knife he had hidden in his shoe and plunged it forcefully in the other man, right under the rib cage before moving down to cut his femoral artery. The internal hemorrhaging as well as well as the blood loss should kill him silently in few minutes.  His hand that was leisurely caressing the man before was now on his mouth to keep him from screaming.  
> 
> _But if he’s not screaming, who is?_
> 
> “Help! HELP!!!! He’s killing Dimitri!! He’s killing him!!! No, not my Dimitri!!” The woman who was screaming was running toward Sherlock to try to push him away from her lover.
> 
> “Go away, mad woman! Don’t you know he’s a criminal! Save yourself…” Sherlock's hesitation to just kill her and flee was his critical error. Hitting him with anything that was near, she continued to scream until the guards arrive, crying that someone was killing her soulmate.  Unable to check if Stonajovic was alive or not, he was finally able to escape the room even as the furious woman was attacking him. He was able to reach the staircase that led to a discreet exit he had spotted a day before by knocking out a few security men when a door one floor above him opened brusquely.
> 
> “We’ve got the bastard, he's on the stairs! Catch him, catch him ALIVE!!!”

He ran, like he never ran.

Skipping two or three steps at a time, the feeling that death itself was chasing after him. That if he stopped for a fraction of a second, everything going to be over. The mission, his life, his relationship with John, the possibility of being truly happy… At least, his hand was touching the outside door handle when a bullet passed thru his arm, pulling him away long enough to be tackled to the floor by a dozen or so angry hired thugs.

His last thoughts before falling into blackness were for John, his conductor of light, his soulmate…  _I love you. I’m sorry…_

  

 

_Back in London..._

They were in a small waiting room, trying not so convincingly to stay calm while Greg was under the surgeon's care. Anthea, looking at John, discreetly nods towards her boss. The doctor, following her gaze, realizes that Mycroft Holmes wasn't right. He was livid, nearly shaking... muttering while fidgeting absentmindedly with his phone. "It was my job... I'm sorry... It was my job... I'm sorry... It was my job..." His breathing was becoming erratic as John  moves to sit closer to him. 

"Mycroft..." He says softly then louder when the tall man didn't react. "Mycroft, listen to me. Breathe slowly... You are going to hyperventilate if you don't calm yourself." Putting a hand on his back he started rubbing softly while mouthing at Anthea to get a bottle of water. "Yes... That's it... Breathe slow and steady. Good..." Taking the bottle from the PA's hand, he opens it before handing it to Mycroft. "Drink a little now please... yes, a little more."

Calmer, tears start to flow in Holmes' eyes while he repeats "It was my job..."

"Don't put this on yourself...." _I must decide one day if I like or loathe the man..._

"You don't understand." Mycroft murmurs painfully, "The only thing that Sherlock asked. The only thing I had to do for him to maybe talk to me again was to keep his friends safe. And now... Sherlock is lost and Greg... Greg..."

"We're going to find Sherlock, I won't let you have any doubts about that in my presence. And as for Greg, you have to be more positive, negativity is not going to help him right now."

"You don't understand! Since yesterday my mind is mixing with feelings that aren't mine... It's frightening but... but so beautiful!" Mycroft was suddenly frantic, walking in the direction of the doors that lead to the operating theatre. His voice broke as he nods his head on the door. "And now nothing... no more happiness, curiosity, longing... I even miss his anger. Nothing John, only emptiness."

"So you are living first hand what my life has been on and off for the last fifteen years." The small amount of compassion left for Sherlock's brother tones down the poison in his voice but the message was received nonetheless.

"John... I'm so... So sorry. I sincerely thought it was better for him."

The doctor was about to reply when the surgeon came through the door.

"Mister Holmes... He's out of immediate danger. He's in the recovery room and should be moved to a private room in the next few hours." He sighs, finally smiling at the powerful man. "It's okay, he's going to be all right."


	34. Peril

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes to understand Mycroft's perilous situation and finally reconnects with Sherlock...

Mycroft was finally sleeping, his head resting on one fist, as he sat at Greg's side, while his other hand carefully held onto Greg's. Closing the door, John sighs as he sits near Anthea. "He's asleep, at last..." The woman was furiously typing on her phone, frowning and smiling at the same time.

"Should I be afraid to ask?" The exhausted doctor mutters looking at the still perfectly dressed and styled PA.  _How is it possible for her to still look pristine?_

"Oh sorry, John... It's just that today is the audit on Sherlock's case and I'm following the discussion - got a friend in the chamber - and it's going really well..." She smiles earnestly. "The work we've accomplished in the last months has finally paid off." But a black cloud passes over her face... "On the other hand, still no news about his location. The rescue team is pretty certain that he's far inside the Carpathian Mountains, but they must go on foot to avoid being spotted as there is only one road. So, it's going to take longer..."

"But it's a good thing that I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, right? The suppressants are still present in his blood." That thought was the doctor's only comfort since he had learned that Sherlock was MIA.

"Yes. That's good news..."   _Or his captor found the suppressants and doesn't want us to know what is happening... or Sherlock has them with him - wherever he is - and he found a way to take them, so John wouldn't worry..._

"This is why you're gloomy? We already know that it going to be at least a day before the team made contact with the target…" John asks, feeling that Anthea was hiding something.

"You’re right, it’s not only Sherlock – which is already a bad situation - It's just that... now that Mycroft seems ready about dealing with the DI Lestrade situation, it’s going to be... difficult." 

John laughs "You're right about that, Greg's going to be furious and will do everything to antagonize Mycroft. But he loves him, I'm certain, so don't worry about that. Your boss is going to be fine. And happy... someday."

Anthea smiles then turn serious again. "You don't understand... As soon as  _people_  will know that Mr. Holmes has a soulmate, his position will be in peril.”  _Or his life... It's not a kind of job you can just give notice to and leave.“_ He’s going to be seen as a liability."

"We no longer live in the Victorian era, Anthea! I can't believe that the government would let a man of his caliber and experience go, because he's..." He stops in the middle of his argument when the PA gives him an exasperated  _'really John?_ ' look.  _God... It's horrible but she's right. They even don't accept officers in the army once they find their soulmates..._

 _"_ I don't know if he's decided to go public about this or not, but right now we need him at his position until Sherlock comes home!" She was fearless! "I know it may sound egotistical, but it's the truth and it's a terrible time for him right now, with their obviously strong bond struggling to connect, and Sherlock's disappearance..."

Defeated and suddenly feeling empathy for Sherlock’s brother and his friend, the doctor murmurs, "when I think that we found it so funny that Mycroft was pining for Greg... what a mess..." Watching the door, he asks softly "What can we do then? Is it better to wake him up?"

"We're going to give them a few hours, until DI Lestrade comes out of the sedative at least, then we will have a conversation about all this and decide what we should do next. And yes, we will inform Gregory about Sherlock's...  _situation_." Turning her attention back to her phone she squeaks and turns the screen to John.

> Good news, A. Your boss’ brother is completely exonerated and will be openly pardoned. The Met will have to publicly make amends regarding the unfortunate errors. 

“Oh my God, Anthea, we’ve done it!” He kisses the young woman on both cheeks and hugs her tightly as emotions were submerging him. It was the first time since Greg has been shot where he didn’t feel guilty of thinking about his soulmate!  _My love, we are going to find you and everything is going to be fine!_

   

_Few hours earlier…_

“Who are you?" Sherlock was looking around him with disinterest, not wanting to acknowledge the other man in the room.  _Vladimir if I remember well…_  Things were still civilized…  _For now._  They roughly patched his arm – thankfully the bullet went clean through – and even gave him something for the pain.  _Really thoughtful criminals, I must give them that!_ But the men responsible for Stonajovic's security weren’t planning to stay polite for long. Placing his massive hand on the detective's arm, he presses until he wasn’t able to contain his moaning anymore.

“Oh… Is this bad? So sorry… Our surgeon is working on our boss! You are lucky he’s not dead!”

Trying to bluff it out, Sherlock manages a disgruntled grimace, fighting back the pain. “It’s his fault, he shouldn’t have tried to get in my pants when his soulmate was near… She’s a jealous little minx, no?” The man steps away from Sherlock, looking puzzled. “What? She told you lot that I was the one who…” He shakes his head, trying to act nonchalant but angry at the same time. “And to think I was so happy to join your little group, bloody amateurs.”

Turning his back on his captive, the bulky man steps out of the room quickly, locking Sherlock in.  _Okay… Now how could I get out of this place? What do I know? I’m a few kilometers deep in the forest near the village of Boljetin_ _… Otherwise nothing!_ Closing his eyes, he tried to order his thoughts to put together what he learned in the last days.

 

They left him alone for hours, he didn’t know how long, before the door opens to a dark and silent Vladimir as well as two other guards. Walking swiftly to the metallic chair where Sherlock was tied to, he slaps the young man violently with the back of his hand.  _I guess_ _Stonajovic woke up…_ “WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR? I won’t ask again, who are you?”

“In fact, you just asked twice so…”

Another blow effectively split his lips. “Shut up! From now you are only talking when we ask you something. Understood?” He waits a few seconds. “UNDERSTOOD?”

“Was that a question? I wasn’t sure…” Another blow.  _Come on Sherlock shut-up! Don’t be your cocky self for once!_ “Sorry, sorry… Yes, I understand.”

“Now that we understand each other… WHO ARE YOU?” The screaming in his ear made in wince, he was trying to find the reply that won’t get him tortured or killed when a guard in the back of the room intervenes.

“I… I know who he is… It’s the Dark Angel…”

Laughing, Vladimir pushes the man away. “You are drinking too much Brancovich, it’s a legend… come on, it’s impossible that a single man killed all our friends or enemies, singlehanded before disappearing without any trace! It’s a grandmother tale used to scare little children!” The other guards laugh but start looking at Sherlock anxiously.

“But I have proof…” Brancovich opens his cell to show something to his superior. “We received that message a few minutes ago.” It was a picture of Sherlock, in a different disguise, escaping the site of an explosion at a warlord arms warehouse in Azerbaijan. “Is this the same man? It looks like him…”

The men scrutinized the picture and Sherlock's face until one of the men point to something on the image. “Look there… he's bleeding, his jeans are cut…” Getting a knife, the abruptly opens a big gash in the left leg of his trousers to show a scar running all along his calve. “Yes, this is the Dark Angel. I must talk to the boss, bring him to the cellar.”

The danger of his situation wasn’t lost on the detective, but hope was still present. Mycroft is probably looking for him at that moment! He was trying to focus on a way to get out or to at list find a way to signal to a rescue team where he was when a wave of pure happiness spreads in his soul, in his whole body.  _John… No, not now. Please give me a few hours._ He fights to keep his emotion and pain in check, not wanting to alarm his soulmate.  _Stay calm, stay calm._ At that moment two of the guards cut the knots that were keeping him down and – each taking an arm – they drag him in the basement.

 

After a maze of damp corridors, they push him onto the dirty floor of the cellar.  _Cruelly lacking wine though._  He chuckles, knowing that John would have laugh at his bad joke. At the sound of their laughing prisoner, a guard came back quickly and kicks at the thin man's abdomen and torso.  _Left ribs 4 and 5 broken. Good thing he had small feet_ , was his last thought before his head fell unconscious on the ground finally overwhelmed by exhaustion and pain.  Not knowing that John, as he was jubilant few minutes ago, was now nearly crying in Anthea's arms, his hand pressing on his side, powerless against his soulmate's shared pain now that the suppressants finally have given up. 

 

* 

 

At the border between Romania and Serbia, a solitary man was waiting, looking at the Danube. He knew that Sherlock Holmes was probably somewhere in the big expanse of woods and mountains behind him, but he did not know where. _Is the bastard still in hiding?_   _Did he find_ _Stonajovic? Even I don't know where his compound is! It’s like finding a needle in a fucking haystack… But as Jim was always saying, easy to find a needle when you burn the whole haystack._ He shook his head to push away his thoughts about his boss, to keep only the hatred for the man who caused his death and was now on a mission to destroy his legacy. Lost in his thoughts, he nearly didn’t realize his phone was buzzing.

> We’ve got the man you’re looking for, I’m sending the coordinates.
> 
> Good. Don’t touch him, I will take care of him.

A smile adorns his lips for the first time in months. A silhouette appears near him without a sound. “Good news Seb?”

“It’s time. Be ready to move.” He turns to look at the woman clad entirely in black. “Your team is still clueless?”

“Yes, they still think that we are following the mission Holmes gave to AGRA.” She smiles almost softly, shaking her blond hair as she nods. “In fact, it’s true, we are going to find him.” She chuckles at the thought. “They are still following the false path you left in Greece?”

“It looks like they do…" Moran smirks "As if I was going to lose my time going after an old lady when I’ve got a gift waiting for me. But you're right Rosamund, we are going to find Sherlock Holmes. And then I will kill him. Painfully.” 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't translate the dialog, sorry I'm too lazy!, but of course Sherlock is talking a (nearly) flawless Serbian :-)
> 
> And ouhhhhhhhhh AGRA. I won't go into the AGRA backstory/season 4 craziness, don't worry!


	35. Collecting on old debts...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg waking up to find Mycroft in his room. 
> 
> John deals with Sherlock pains...

Mycroft was still sleeping when a soft tremor in Gregory's hand wakes him. Turning to look at the DI, he finds smouldering, dark brown eyes glaring at him. Quickly removing his hand from Mycroft's, he utters harshly. “What the hell are you doing, Holmes?”

“You… You have been shot, Inspector, and I… I…“ Slowly rising out of the uncomfortable chair, he stands near the bed, passing his shaking hands over his hair and shirt, trying to put some kind of order to his appearance. “I’m going to go fetch your doctor.” And then quit the room without looking at Gregory.

“Yeah, you do that…”  _If he thinks it’s going to be easy!_ He was trying to sit up, muttering against the infuriating man, when John enters the room slowly.

“Greg!” He was talking laboriously, wincing on each footstep. “Thank, God you’re awake, mate!" He gently turns to look back at a disappearing Mycroft before sitting on the chair that Mycroft had not left for the last few hours. “When I saw Mycroft's face, I was afraid that something was wrong…” At the smug look on his friend’s face, John laughs lightly before choking as if he were gasping for air.  _What are they doing to you love… Stay strong please. Help is coming_. Smiling at Greg as if nothing was wrong, he asks, “what did you do to Mycroft?”

“Nothing! It just that I woke up to find Mycroft bloody Holmes, his head on my bed, his hand...  _his_  hand holding mine!”  _Like a lover!_   The tingling sensation was still present, it was really unsettling. “But that’s not important… what’s going on?  Have you been attacked, too? Is it Moran? You should be in a bed, not here worrying about me…”

Rising his hand in dismissal, John tries to keep his voice level as he lies “No, nothing major, I just… fell and broke a rib. You know how it’s painful as fuck even if it’s not something severe. But, about Mycroft… Greg, tsk, tsk...” The doctor chides amiably, trying to push his friend curiosity away for now.  _I need to talk to Mycroft before revealing anything about Sherlock to Greg!_   “You know why he was here, the poor man was so upset when we learned that you’ve been shot by Moran!”

Pushing his concern for John and his feelings away, unrequited at the moment thank you very much!, he asks quietly, “did you find the bastard?”

“No, he's still on the run… we do know that he's left the country. A few men that have Mycroft's trust are trying to find him. Everything is pointing towards Greece…”

“Oh my God! Ms. Hudson!”

“Don’t worry, everything is taken care of, someone is already on the boat with her and the only eventful adventure is to find a way to stop her from flirting with the waiters!” They were both chuckling when the doctor, with Mycroft in tow, enters the room.

“Good to see that you’re awake and talking, Inspector… I will proceed with some routine tests now.” John and Mycroft, understanding, nod to the doctor and leave the room to go back to the waiting area where Anthea was sleeping across three chairs, her hand still clutching her phone. She stayed with John for hours, stroking him, calming him, until she allowed herself to close her eyes for a few minutes.

Placing a comforting hand on his PA’s shoulder, Holmes shakes her gently. “Anthea, dear, DI Lestrade is out of danger now, you can go home to rest.”

Opening her eyes, the young woman snaps of her sleep quickly enough to put an ex-soldier to shame. “Mr. Holmes! I need to talk to you! WE need to talk to you!” She looks around, not wanting to be heard, but the hallway was buzzing with activities now that the daytime shift was on. “Can we go into your office?”

“Yes, of course…”

After helping Anthea to her feet, Mycroft walks swiftly towards the elevator. Frowning as he comes to the realization that Anthea was helping John to walk, holding his arm lightly while she slows her usual hurry pace to suit John’s. Mycroft feels his heart drop as he quickly puts two and two together.  _God, no… Sherlock, please…_

 

 

To John's surprise, once in the elevator, they went up instead of down. On the last floor, they turn on a corridor where a guard was in faction. At Holmes appearance, the man rises at attention. “Sir, Good morning, Sir.”

Without stopping to respond,  _I need to know what’s going on! How could have they let me sleep like that?_  The government man swipes his card and enters his key code. “Is the office available?”

“The Minister of Commerce is currently…” The agent pales as Mycroft lets his displeasure be known.  _It’s true, Roberston's son just came back injured from army training._ The unofficial small hospital catered to patients that can’t be in the regular system for security reasons. Agents, family members of influential people, the royal family…  _As if the Duchess of Cambridge was really giving birth to our future sovereign at St.Mary’s, the public's credulity knows no bounds!_   The office was his  _per se_  and he allowed others to use the facility when it’s needed but… he wasn’t in the mood to deal with _people._

“How is his son faring?” Mycroft asks, his hand on the doorknob of the office.

“Well, Sir, happy to say that we learned that he’s leaving this afternoon and…” but he wasn’t able to finish as Holmes opens the door of his office to an astonished Roberston who was quietly working on his laptop.

“Good news about your son, Robertson, really happy for your family.” He enters the room followed by Anthea and John. “But now, get out…” He smiles coldly. “Please.”

Taking his things rapidly, the impressionable official utters a croak. "Sorry Mr. Holmes, good day, Ms,’ and left the room, closing the door behind him. “Please take a seat, you both look as if you have a lot to say… but give me two minutes. Anthea, could you please get me some coffee? I don't think tea will do much good at this point.” He walks over to a door where he had to sweep his card again to gain access. It was his private cupboard where he could keep changes of clothing when needed; he selected a fresh suit and picked up a small vanity case before entering the small en-suite to change.

Three minutes later, a refreshed Mycroft came back from the bathroom, nods to Anthea as she gives him a cup of fresh coffee and sits at his desk. “Okay… now talk.” But before Anthea could explain what had happened while Mycroft slept near Greg, John faints.

 

 

“Wake up….” A bucket of icy water brought Sherlock back from where his mind went when he fainted an hour ago. “You’re going to have a visitor!” Vladimir was smirking cruelly, as he squats near the detective to murmur in his ear. “You know… If you didn’t enjoy the hours you spent in our… spa…” He laughs viciously. “you’re going to hate what’s coming up for you. You shouldn’t have tried to play with the big boys.” Kicking his back one more time as he rises, he chuckles as the man moans before adding in a rough English. “And you are going to be able to scream and plead in English, it is better no?”

Laughing again, he left the room to be ready when Moran arrived. The strong man was honest enough to didn’t try to hide the shudder that passed through him at the thought of Moriarty's right-hand man in their hideaway.  He was afraid and rightfully so. Because among the men he worked for, if Sherlock was known as the  _Dark Angel_ , Moran had always carried the nickname of the  _Blond Demon_.

Opening his eyes now that he was alone, Sherlock blinks a few times to push away the tears and blood. Calming himself as much as possible, he breathes slowly but not too deep as his whole chest was hurting. Testing if he was able to move his legs and arms – the position was killing him! – he realized quickly that his hands were now shackled to a bolt in the floor. Fortunately, his feet were only loosely tied together so he was able, slowly and with difficulty, to sit instead of being spread on the cold floor, leaving his left leg as straight as possible.

Feeling less vulnerable, Sherlock surveys his wounds calmly, remotely as if it was someone else knowing perfectly well that John,  _my dear John, my sweet love_ , had probably felt everything.  _I hope he was surrounded by professionals and that they gave him something to sleep, to help push the pain away… I hope he accepts the help he's such a romantic fool sometimes!_ He kept breathing slowly, not letting panic or pain take over.  _So… I… No… The agent has already suffered a gunshot wound in the arm which was quickly dressed by his captor as well as a few broken ribs._ The energy he had left was plummeting, his eyes closing on their own accord, but he fights to remains awake, knowing that it was important to exorcize everything as soon as possible, to separate his self from this all.   _After that, he’s been pushed onto a cold floor and forgotten for hours without food, water or anything to help with the coldness of the room. He probably fell asleep because of the exhaustion when… when I was… when HE was beaten once more on the back and his abdomen. He’s probably suffering from small internal injuries as the goal was clearly to have fun and not to hurt me, HIM, too severely. After a particularly vicious guard kicked... no jumped on the left leg, breaking the bone in half... I, no HE, Oh what's the name of this bone... How could I forget... Oh that's right. The fibula. After he broke the fibula I… He, it's not difficult HE…_   It was harder for Sherlock to keep up the pretense, to keep the pain away.  Fighting his transport's will to simply lie down on the floor and close his eyes, the last words of Vladimir finally breaks through is mind.  _Someone is coming. Someone worse._

 

 

John was on the office small couch when he came back. “What.. what happened?”

“You fainted. Oh, John, are you all right?” Anthea was looking really worried. During the ten terrible minutes or so the doctor was out, the PA quickly explained to her boss what they had learned. That Sherlock was indeed captured, that John had started to feel what can only be Sherlock’s pains. And that it was getting worse…

Pushing down on the armrest of the sofa, so he could sit up, John was still shaken. The pain had subsided somewhat, thankfully. Pragmatic as a doctor must be, he knew that it was probably only because Sherlock was still passed out….  _How could they do that to him!_   He was furious,  _I should be there, I should do something!_ Rising too quickly, he rapidly falls back on the sofa, his head spinning

“John, stay calm… Please. We need to talk. I presume that my brother is probably still unconscious, so this is giving you "a break" - sorry for the bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. We’ve only so much time before you lose the ability to communicate rationally .” He pauses, looking at the worn-out doctor. “Knowing you, I presume that you won’t…” But he was cut by a cold stare.

“No, don’t even try, I won’t take anything to dull the pain. If… if he suffers that pain first hand, my duty is to support him. I won’t abandon him to whatever those bastards plan to do because I’m too afraid to deal with the _mere echo_ of his suffering.”

“If you are willing to do so John, I will follow your example and do what is needed to be done… I will stay away from my feelings for Gre… DI Lestrade, until Sherlock is safe.”  _Anyway, I don’t think he wants anything to do with me at the moment!_ “With Sherlock finally free from the charges against him, it will be easier to get more help and I think I will be able to plan a cohesive attack upon all the remaining targets as well as getting Sherlock back if it’s not already done by tomorrow.” He steps away from the sofa to sit back in his office. “I will phone everybody who owes me something and work it out John, I promise.” Smiling sadly at Anthea he concludes. “Take care of both of them, my dear, would you. And you can announce the news of Sherlock's  _resurrection_  to Gregory, John, but otherwise, it’s still a secret.”

As they close the door of the office, Mycroft was already on the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 04/22: It's going to be a little bit longer then usual as I am on holiday far far away from my computer! Please subscribe if you want to be warned when the next chapter is on :)
> 
> 05/01: I'm baaaaaaack! I am currently working on the new chapter.


	36. A gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little update on Greg's feelings, Mycroft's next move and Moran's arrival at the mobster's compound.

Too weak to protest, John finally took the sleeping pills Anthea had been trying to push on him for the last few hours and was resting, at last blessedly unaware of Sherlock's suffering and anxiety. The discussion they had with Greg once they left Holmes’ office had drained the last drops of energy left in him. The young woman, back in Lestrade's room now that Sherlock’s soulmate was resting, knew that the conversation wasn’t over.

“You should have told me!” Greg, still suffering but now clearly in shape enough to be angry!, was fuming. “John shouldn’t have to deal with this without a friend!”  _All the time when I tried to comfort him, thinking Sherlock was dead. I was rubbing salt in the wound! He was probably thinking about the danger his soulmate was into… What a mess! And all this because of… “_ It’s Mycroft Holmes that told you to stay silent about this… The bastard!”

“DI Lestrade… Greg… Mister Holmes, John and I - we are all dealing with an unknown situation, without any precedent!” She stops, trying to find words to salvage the situation. “You know… it’s not too late. John needs you more than ever. You must have realized that… that he wasn’t himself?”  

Thinking about his clearly suffering friend, Greg turns his gaze away from Anthea. “I realized when I wake up the first time that something wasn’t right, but John said that it was only a bruised rib.” The image of an ashen John, clearly overwhelmed by pain and emotion, was fresh in his mind. “When you came here a few hours ago, I realized something was very wrong. I am a detective, and a good one I think, I can’t understand how I never fathomed that Sherlock was alive…” Bitterness spreads on his face as the idea of being played like that by men he considered his friends.

“They are acting as they have because they are your friends, never doubt it!” Anthea said, interrupting Greg’s wool-gathering. “It was mostly for your protection and, as you can see now that Moran is once more a threat, it wasn’t uncalled for.” Sitting at the edge of the bed, she smiles softly. “If I may Greg, you know, Mister Holmes is not that bad… And he’s really in love with you – even without the soulmate link - he does like you and he’s impressed by your qualities... and he does find you attractive.” Raising her hand slightly to stop Greg from protesting, she continues. “I know he’s been… inconsiderate. But his heart, if it is unfortunately under layers upon layers of walls, is in the right place. One day, you’ll get the time to talk. But, please, give him a chance, at the very least do not toy with his emotions as long as his brother is not returned to us…”

Looking back at the woman who dealt with everything thrown at her with a terrible efficacy in the last months, he sighs and falls back on his pillows. “I was abrupt with him earlier... but I didn’t know about Sherlock. About him being… alive but in trouble.” He swallows with difficulty, his throat dry and his chest constricted by emotion.  “But what he’s done is so awful, Anthea… I know it’s a personal question but… Are you gifted?” The woman shakes her head in the negative. “That’s don’t mean that you can’t love as much I know, I am not a moronic bigot, but having a soulmate means that there’s only one person meant for you. That anything else is settling for a second choice, a pale copy of what could have been. For someone with the gift, or the curse depending on how you see it, real love won’t happen twice. You can’t just fall in love again… I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard… but it never worked.” Little tears pearl at the edge of Greg’s eyes but he did nothing to push them away. “What Mycroft did to Sherlock and to me was horrible.  I can understand his point of view, I can understand his reasons, but he didn’t have the right to choose for us.”  His tone was quiet but resolute.

“I know, and he knows it too now… The only thing I’m asking even if I have no right to do so, is for you to give him a real chance to make amends.”  

Sniffing, he chuckles as the image of a contrite and love-sick Mycroft appears in his mind. “Anyway, it was to no avail… trying not to be with me… John and Sherlock found each other, and Mycroft and I cross paths constantly. The Druids have their way and love always find a way.” Closing his eyes, he was getting sleepy again, he murmurs. “I will help as much as possible to get Sherlock back, I swear.” A little dreamy smile appears as he drifts “… and give the sexy git an honest chance…”

__  
  
In his office Mycroft was still talking urgently on the phone, the remains of many cups of coffee and an uneaten sandwich on his desk. "Have you found him?” After many discussions, promises of gifts, favours or political support Mycroft was able to trade in the last hours to get the help of MI6, CIA and Interpol to coordinate an action upon all the targets that were left. It was the best way now that Sherlock was officially exonerated of any wrongdoing.  _It would have been easier if that option would have been available from the start!_ The idea of everything his brother did since his ‘death’ either to stay alive or to destroy Moriarty's cartel was constantly dragging him down, the will to get Sherlock out of there the only thing still keeping him up. Cutting the crap his contact was saying about ‘being near’ and ‘knowing more’ and ‘almost there’ he asks again, “HOW LONG!”

The small blond woman at the other end of the line smiles at Holmes impatience. “Not long, Sir. I promise I can feel that it won’t be long before we put our hands on him… Not long at all.”

Passing his fingers through his hair, totally destroying the normally controlled locks, he murmurs, “please… find him.” His second line starts ringing, glancing over he saw that it was their parents.  _What can I say… What should I say…_ Closing his conversation with Mary Morstan, he urges her to give him a report every three hours.

“I will Sir.” And she ends the conversation before chuckling at the idea that,  _yeah, they know where he is_. Walking back to the rest of her team, she turns her lips back to a severe line. “Our sponsor is anxious about the retrieval of our target. I promised that AGRA always gets the job done. Are you with me?” After a strong positive response from the other three, she points to the map on the table. Showing a corner far away from the criminals’ stronghold where Sherlock was, she suggests, “I’ve got a feeling that he must be somewhere in that zone… Let’s start there.” 

 

Moran was waiting calmly, without showing any signs of his impatience. He didn’t say that much during the one-hour drive to the small fortress, his mind focused on his vengeance. After a short discussion with Vladimir, anxious of receiving his share of the price that was put on the detective’s head, he was invited into  Stonajovic's bedroom for a quick chat. The mob chief was still in great pain but was asking to remain only lightly medicated, not wanting to lose sight of anything going on.  _Especially in presence of the Red Demon._ It was globally known that Sebastian Moran was more than Moriarty’s sniper… The symbiotic relationship was clearly apparent when they travelled together in Eastern Europe. The way Moran protected his boss, nobody would have ever tried anything unsavoury! He was his second in command, his right arm, his partner probably or at least his lover. The sniper aspect of his role was just a bonus for both of them, and now that Moriarty was dead everyone was waiting to know what Moran was going to do.

In the first few weeks followings the mastermind’s death, the few associates who attempted to take his place suddenly disappeared without any trace… The message was clear.  Knowing that, Stonajovic was waiting patiently for Moran to speak after he succinctly explained how he met the man he now knows to be Sherlock Holmes, how the attack on his person was performed and what happened to the prisoner over the last twenty-four hours.

Looking at the man, Moran first thoughts was  _Holmes didn’t play nice! This is going to be so much fun._   _Good that they didn't do much to him... I don't like to play with damaged goods_. The man was the leader of a nice little operation. The share of profit that goes to ‘Moriarty Inc.’, as Seb often referred to their operation, was satisfactory and it wasn’t in his mind to threaten Stonajovic's authority in any way. Acknowledging his leadership, he simply offers his help to keep everything under control until his complete recovery.  _Better to ensure that this competent puppet remains in charge instead of someone else._ The injured man, knowing what’s good for him, thanks him deeply and offers the usage of his best suite, his women or men, drugs, anything for as long as needed.

And of course, the biggest gift of all, Sherlock Holmes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small one I know. After all that time. But as next one will... Anyway. You'll see.


	37. 30 hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft finally find peace, the first step for something new! Moran visits Sherlock for the first time.

Greg was feeling restless, his chest hurting like hell…  I have been lucky the surgeon said, a few centimeters at the left and… He was still on heavy drugs but was hurting more now that the sedative had left his body completely. His agitation when John and Anthea talked to him earlier didn’t help either. Something was missing, he wasn’t able to calm himself.  _You’re a bloody cop! Being shot at is your job, would you please calm the fuck down!_   _At least people know where I am… not like poor Sherlock… Oh God, Sherlock!_   As tears appeared in his eyes, he unconsciously strokes his fingers over the bandage protecting the sutures and hisses at the vivid pain. 

A soft voice resounds, nearly inaudible with the hums and various blips of the machines. “You shouldn’t touch it… I think.” Turning with care, he spotted Mycroft Holmes sitting in a shadowed corner of the room. “I'm sorry, Grego… DI Lestrade, it was not my intention to spook you. I’m going to let you rest.” He rises, unable to hide his defeated look completely, and puts his hand on the doorknob, keeping his eyes away from the man he loves. “I just want to inform you that in 30 hours, everything that remains from Moriarty legacy is going to be destroyed. Irrevocably. You’re going to be safe…this time.” His head falls a bit and he opens the door.

“Mycroft… Stay.” Greg calls, softly but with resolve.

Not moving, afraid of having misheard, Mycroft tests. “You said something, Inspector?”

“Yes.” More firmly, the detective repeats. “Please Mycroft… stay with me.” Closing the door without a sound, Holmes slowly walk back to the chair, hope rising in his heart, even if he knew that it was foolish to expect anything. “You’re too far, I can’t see you and I can’t really move." He chuckles and continues softly, "Maybe you could you sit near the bed?” Not saying a word, afraid to break the little momentum they had, Mycroft slides the light plastic chair closer Greg’s left side. “Thanks… It’s better like that, don’t you think?”  _I don’t know what to think anymore_ , Mycroft thought while he takes his place near his soulmate. His only love. The only one for him. They stay silent for few minutes, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was comforting.

The raw emotions of the last days, last months, was accelerating the bonding process now that they were together in the same room, near enough to touch each other if they wish. Mycroft was pleased and honoured to be allowed to be near him. Eyes closed, trying to keep his emotions on check, the younger man was waiting for the other to say something, anything. Not really knowing how all this ‘soulmate secret communication’ worked –  _I should have listened to Mummy more carefully!_  – but he reminisces what his father told him the one time they had ‘the talk’.   _If you have the chance of having a soulmate, son, it’s the most precious gift of all and you must protect her at all cost! Sometimes one of you will be in dire circumstances, and the other will be distraught by a feeling of impotence, but soulmates are never without the power to help. The mere presence and love of the other, even if the other is unconscious, is enough to aid in a faster recovery... to alleviate stress…_

Mycroft smiles softly, lost in his thoughts as he remembers how his mother was always super calm when their father was going in an important meeting or how their father was always extra-cheery when his wife was slowly becoming melancholic as she does sometimes. _Balance. Partnership._

His whole spirit focusses on Greg, storing away his exhaustion, worries and fear. Without realizing, one of his hands falls on the bed, only a few centimetres away from his soulmate’s fingers. The DI, looking at Mycroft in wonder, was absorbing the strength, love and calmness emanating from his soulmate. The effect was immediate, easing the pain, calming his apprehension…   _Is it really possible, that he loves me that much? That this genius man is really linked to the ordinary old me…_ On their own accord, his fingers slide slowly on the bed until they slip on Mycroft’s open palm. Not acknowledging the slight tremors of joy in the other man's hand, he rests his head on the pillow, closes his eyes and falls asleep soothed by the light calming buzz emanating from their joined hands. Passion will follow later, that was not what was needed for now.

Keeping his hold on Gregory’s hand, Mycroft puts his head under his arm and nearly instantly fell asleep as well, sharing one last thought.  _Home, at last…_

 

Opening his eyes with difficulty, John surveys the room quickly. He was alone and, if he can trust the light that comes inside thru the blind, it’s late in the afternoon. Closing his eyes a moment of apprehension, he focusses on trying to reach his soulmate, panicking quickly when he felts nothing. No pain, no anxiety, no anger… Nothing.  _Maybe he’s sleeping… Or… Or…_  Panicking, his heart starts to beat rapidly, the monitor attached to his finger sending an alert to the nurses’ desk.  _I shouldn’t have taken the damn pills, what happened while I was sleeping as if nothing was wrong when Sherlock is captive we don’t know where,  by we don’t know who, doing we don’t know what to him!_ Pushing away the blanket and removing the little device that supervises him, he jumps out of the bed. He was scanning the room looking for his shoes and phone when a nurse enters the room.

“Doctor Watson!” She didn’t look overly happy. “Where do you think you are going?”

“I’m looking for my phone and my shoes… How long have I been asleep?” He continues his survey of the room.  _Where did they put my bloody things! Who cares! I’m going to talk to Mycroft or Anthea shoeless, that’s all!_  He was walking for the door when the nurse points a bag under the bed.

“Everything is in that bag doctor, including a change of clothes. You can take a quick shower before going to Mr. Holmes' office. I will let him know to expect you in fifteen minutes if you want?” At John’s uncertain expression, she was going to argue that anything that he wants to do can wait fifteen minutes when Anthea's voice resonates in the little room.

“John, you’ve got the right to take a shower to clear up your mind and refresh your spirit.” She smiles gently. Showing the door to the nurse gently, she continues, “nothing urgent at the moment… Nothing new, and Mycroft is with Greg presently.” She sits in a chair in the corner of the room. “Go, I will wait for you here… I’m not going anywhere.” Still feeling nothing from Sherlock, John nods in defeat, picked up the bag and walks into the small en-suite. Texting Mycroft to let him know that John was awake after his few hours of rest, she sits in the plastic chair with a sigh.  The last few days have been hard on everyone but doing the researching and other tasks that were needed as well as worrying about her boss, then John, then Greg's wellbeing has been particularly hard on the young woman. All _this needs to stop before we are all too exhausted to lift a finger. Thank God Mycroft was able to get the collaboration of the agencies and a final attack on the last of Moriarty's partners will take place in…_ She looks at the countdown on her phone, _30 hours 35 minutes. If only AGRA could find Sherlock!_ Exhausted, she closes her eyes a few minutes, lulled by the sound of the shower.  _I’ll just nap for few minutes…_

 

The ex-soldier walks into the cell slowly, like a shark watching his prey. Oblivious but constantly aware of the dampness of the underground room, of the stench coming from the nearby chambers, of the respectful distance Vladimir kept with him. Afraid, probably, of saying something that can potentially anger Moran or that something they already did to the prisoner will not suit him.  The idea of what could have happened is nobody has realized who it was! The wasted opportunity… The missing date with his vengeance.

_Holmes is mine._

After a few minutes of silence, during which Moran was silently gazing at Sherlock's silhouette on the floor, Vladimir coughs softly, to get the man attention. “He’s not in bad shape, Sir.” He was talking nervously, his Slavic accent heavier than usual because of the stress. “Just a bit of a sore leg, a few ribs… may be broken… but you know, it's just ribs…” He chuckles but stops abruptly when Moran turns his gaze on him. Shaking he starts again, eager to leave the room. “It’s been less than 48 hours since we shot him in the arm – Oh yes, there’s also his arm but we already take care of this so… it’s not worth mentioning…”

The nervous babbling was driving Seb crazy. Evaluating the situation himself, the bandage on Holme's wound was already filthy and the angle of his leg looks wrong, Moran glare at the quivering man beside him. “Send for your doctor, he needs something for his leg – it looks broken you dumb ass – and a fresh bandage for his arm.” As Vladimir turns to leave the cell as quickly as possible, Moran stops him. “And a bed. He needs a bed. How long since his last meal…” At the view of the confusion on the chief of security's face, he adds sternly. “Bring foods and water.” Leaning near the immobile form, he touches him softly to check the pulse. Slow but steady. He pinches the skin to confirm what his first impression told him when he saw the detective, _he's unconscious, not sleeping._

As fear is a puissant motivator, all was set in less than fifteen minutes. The doctor quickly cleaned the few scratches from when Vladimir’s men pummelled the lean detective. He replaced his previous bandage on the shotgun wound. “It’s going well, Sir, the sutures are still in place.” The leg was, as far as the doctor was able to tell without access to radiology, was effectively broken.  “It’s the small bone, the fibula, not the tibia, and it looks like a clean one.  The support I’ve put in place should be enough for… What you need it for Sir.” Looking at the young man, who was now lightly sedated and on a small military bed, he shudders inwardly.  _Happy that I’m not in his place, even if I am old and that my gout is hurting me!_ He turns to look at Moran. “Is this all Sir? I am leaving you some energy-drink and power-bar to help him get back his energy, after that… regular food and water.”  _Just don’t forget to give it to him, that’s all._

“Perfect doctor, perfect…” He shoves money into the old man hand. “Please come back tomorrow night… I will be in need of your service again.” Frightening by the Moran’s cold smile, the doctor nods and exits the room as quick as his gout allowed it, discreetly doing a few Signs of the Cross.  _It’s really the Red Demon!_

Finally, alone again with Holmes, Sebastian draws a chair near the bed… but far enough to be out of reach.  _He’s chained at the bed, but I’m not an imbecile!_ Taking out his phone, he waits while sorting his affairs and checking his messages.  _I will have to wait a bit before I have my fun, but it’s all right… I’ve got all the time in the world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I've decided to wait until next chapter for Sherlock/Moran discussion... But it won't be long I swear!


	38. This is not going to be good...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran and Sherlock...

Eyes still closed, Sherlock was fighting to regain consciousness.  _I didn't just faint... They gave me something_. Taking stock of his situation, he first realizes that he wasn't on the cold floor anymore.  _But still restrained so I am not in a military camp or a hospital_.  His good leg was chained to the bed, but without moving it was hard to guess how long the chain was. The wounded arm wasn't shackled,  _thank God_ , but the other was attached to the side of the bed.  _Ok... So the bed is a nice bonus but for the rest... Not so good._   Inhaling slowly, the familiar odour of antiseptic tickled his nose.  _Someone cleaned my wounds. Why?_  His broken leg has been immobilized.  _Why did they suddenly treat me so well?_  Remembering Vladimir's last words, he was worried.  _Wasn't I supposed to be handed over to someone so horrible that I will miss their attention? If so, what was the point of all that?_ A hard voice suddenly brought him aggressively back to reality.

"I know you're awake Holmes. Open your eyes."

Turning his head cautiously, Sherlock's heart stops a second when he realized who was his new captor. 

_Moran_. 

_This is not going to be good..._

Catching the flash of fear in Holmes' eyes, it was there not even a second but the ex-soldier was looking for it, he smiles with content. "Ah, you know who I am. Of course, Mister Know-it-all! Or, as Jim said, Sir Boast-a-lot.” A flash of rage burst in his guts when he pronounced his boss’ name. “So, you know you are going to suffer for everything you did to him…”

Trying to stay as calm as possible, Sherlock replies in a hoarse voice, “Moriarty killed himself, I don’t know why you should put that on me… trust me, I had a front-row seat.” Nodding at the bottle of water near the bed with difficulty, he mutters, “If you want to chat, I’ll need water...”  

Picking up the bottle, Moran took his time to put it into Sherlock's hand after removing the cap. “It’s your fault. _Everything_ is your fault. You know, now that I know that you’re alive the deal is off… I can go after your friends as Jim asked.” Turning his eyes from Holmes, he mutters angrily. “We were doing fine before you… caught his attention.” He still remembers the pang of unwanted jealousy he felt when Jim started looking more closely at Sherlock’s career when he started collecting newspaper clippings and exchanging information with Adler. “He remembered your name, from your childish inquiries… from that Carl Powers affair.” Jim's excited voice when he talked about the detective, how he was impressed every time Holmes caught a killer or a thief, was still ringing in his head in that silky sing-song voice of his.  _And to think Seb, that it was my little murder that was his first case… That in his adulthood, that feeling of not being able to be heard was probably one of the motivators for his career! Even if he does not realize it! We are such a nice match for each other? Don’t you think, Moran? The things we can do if we put our minds together. Or, at the very least, finally a worthy opponent!_

With a smirk, Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Oh God… Don’t tell me you were jealous.”  _I must keep his focus on me, just me… As long as Moran is here he’s not trying to kill John, Greg or Mrs Hudson._ Thinking about what he knows about Moran and Moriarty, he continues with a frown. “You weren’t soulmates, I’m certain of that…”  _No… not that kind of bond. But Moran certainly idolized his late boss_. “You weren’t? Right? Soulmates I mean.”

Forcibly banging into  Sherlock’s wounded arm, the bottle smashes on the wall at the force of the impact, Moran screams,“DOES IT MATTER!?” that covered the detective’s shout of pain as his stitches opened. “You weren’t aware that you were a bloody soulmate a year ago and now you are suddenly an expert!” Thinking about what he knows of Sherlock’s backstory he sneers viciously, “Doesn’t do your love life any good does it… Trevor left you, disgusted by the way you treated him. And Watson…” He chuckles cruelly, “do you really want me to talk about how you left the poor doctor pining and suffering silently for you for years on end?” Taking a big sip from a bottle of vodka that was laying on a nearby table, he watches as his prisoner was unable to hide his emotions. “Painful… yes… I know. When Jim realized at the pool that you were soulmates but for some unknown reason you weren’t responsive, he thought it was a gift from the Devil!” Shaking his head again, he drinks a bit more before putting down the bottle.

_ At the pool. Oh, my God, I wasn’t crazy… What I felt was true. We… I lost so much time. John, I’m so sorry… _  As a wave of emotions starts spreading in his mind, he tries to keep everything in check. He tries desperately to push away anything negative.  _Why couldn’t we send satellite coordinates thru the link? THAT could have been useful right now! I’m okay, I love you, I’m okay, I love you…_  

Derailing Sherlock thoughts, Moran kicks the metal bed energetically. “Stop that, I want you raw… I want you suffering… I want you to lose control!” The look he shoots at the detective was full of hate. “You are the reason why Jim killed himself. He wanted to force you to lose everything, you didn’t lose gracefully as you should have... so he killed himself to force you!”  

Playing his only card, Sherlock tries again to put doubt into Moran's mind. “You can’t believe that! He killed himself because he realized that he wasn’t as unique as he thought, that I was like him, that I understood him! And he was afraid but also at peace for the first time in all  of his miserable life.” Forgetting the pain in his leg that the shock on the bed awakened, he continues. “I brought him peace, comfort, when you weren’t able to. He didn’t need a lapdog, a pet, he needed the connection - good or bad - with an equal!” Pausing a minute as Moran was pacing like a tiger in a cage, he delivers his final blow. “Don’t accuse me of your own failing! You weren’t good enough for him!”

“Nobody was good enough for him! He was a man of exception, a genius, he was...”

“A BLOODY PSYCHOPATH!”

Both heaving with emotions, the men were looking at each other. Moran furious that he let Holmes manipulate him and Sherlock afraid that he had gone too far.  _Angering him maybe wasn’t the best solution when I am still restrained…_ Looking back at Moran, he saw his face quickly changing from anger to a dark calmness. As if he knew that anyway he’s going to win.  _Of course he’s going to win, my goal to shake him enough to make him doubt his allegiance to a dead man clearly didn’t work. Human emotions are really not my forte!_

Without showing any emotion, Moran walks to the other side of the cell to take his bag. "Enough chatting... Let's play now! But first thing first...." Smiling mischievously, he asks himself out loud, just to toy a bit more with the detective. "What's better I’m not sure, letting Johnny boy feel the extent of what I'm going to do to you or..." He shows to Sherlock a syringe "dull everything a great bit." Shifting the syringe full of a liquid and more potent version of the anti-soulanium serum from hand to hand, he weighs his options muttering dreamily. "It's hard, you’ve got no idea... If I give it to you, you'll be able to scream and suffer as you wish because you'll know your soulmate won't feel a thing..." He keeps switching the syringe from hand to hand... "That's great. I’d loooove to hear you scream. But I know that you'll be pleased that your dear doctor won't know the level of what happening to you and… I don’t want that either. I don’t want anything that can bring you comfort.” His falsely playful demeanour switched as he burst in cold anger, hissing “I want you terrified, disgusted, sickened to the core at the thought of the emotional and physical pain, YOUR own pain, inflicting on to your poor doctor." His breath was ragged, trying to control his emotions.

Shaking his head, he chides the detective lightly. "You see the trouble you are causing me?” He mocks. “And if I don't give it to you, you're going to try to keep everything under control, fighting the pain, shutting down… not wanting John to react badly." He sighs, shaking his head. "Because when John realizes what I've got in store for you, he's going to look for you like a madman with that brother of yours. And we don't want that either, do we?" Placing his hands on each side of Sherlock's head, he murmurs in his ear. "Imagine what I could do to John Watson. Imagine the worst. Imagine the worst tenfold." He sniggers, his eyes full of madness. "Then imagine it all happening while you're here. Watching." Once again walking away from the immobilized detective, he chuckles.  "What a conundrum!" As Sherlock wasn't able to stop rolling his eyes at all the theatrical drama, Moran continues. "But I think that I can split that in the middle, having the fun of letting you express your pain for a day or two then... Bam! Let  _boo-hoo I was shot in Afghanistan ex-soldier_  feel the full wave of your suffering.”  

Quickly shackling Sherlock's right arm with his other hand, he opens the chain that still kept his right leg shackled to the metal bed. Pulling roughly on the manacle until the suffering man falls from the bed, his broken leg twisted under him. Moran was efficient despite his madness. Splashing water on his face, he sniggers deliriously, “Oh no ,Holmes, you won’t faint on me like a damsel…” Using a chain that was bolted to the ceiling, he roughly pulls Sherlock up. “Are you comfortable like that? Let me look… Oooooh poor you, your feet are going to get cold if they touch the cement like that.” He yanks the chain a bit until Sherlock had to stand on tiptoe… Looking at his handiwork with satisfaction, he murmurs “That's much better, much better…”  

Taking the syringe, he quickly presses the serum into Sherlock's arm, talking softly. “You know how this work, right, you are probably an expert in that field now… Let’s have some fun without your dear Watson being aware that something wrong. The first twenty-four hours are all for me, Holmes and I won’t share it with anybody, even your soulmate.” 

_Jim, this is for you._


	39. 25 hours

Mycroft was slowly waking up... but still dreaming. A hand was stroking his arm gently, sending waves of comfort and love. The feeling was marvellous.  _Gregory... If only the dream could be a reality_. The warmth and calmness was a gift from Heaven, he was still so tired. _Just a few more minutes..._

"Wake up, sleepy head!" The voice, if a bit harsh from the lack of use, was undoubtedly real.  _Gregory!_

Jolting from the bed where his hands were mixed with the inspector's, shame engulfs him instantly.  _What time is it, how could I have slept like that when Sherlock... Sherlock! And to think I said to John a few hours ago that I will do anything to bring my brother back!_   _That I was going to stay clear of DI Lestrade until everything is okay, that I was going to push down those... those feelings_. Pushing his chair away from the bed, he grabs his phone to realize that all his calls and texts were automatically redirected to Anthea. With an impatient sigh for the interfering woman, he opens it to remove the redirection and quickly sent a text to his PA.

> Why did you do that? MH
> 
> You need to sleep a bit! You won't be of any use if you are crashing on us later. And it was good for DI Lestrade's recovery too, you know it. A
> 
> It's not the time to be sentimental! Sherlock is my priority, not this! MH
> 
> Lestrade is going to give you strength, do not undermine his importance. A
> 
> I am not! He's the most important person in my life. MH
> 
> After my brother. MH
> 
> Anyway, nothing of importance happened, everything is under control and the schedule is still in place. A
> 
> How long? MH
> 
> 25:15 before action A
> 
> Any other news? Where are you? MH
> 
> In your office with John. A
> 
> OK, I'm coming. MH 

He was on his way to open the door when his soulmate called firmly. "Mycroft! Where are you going! You can't just leave like that..."

Quickly walking back to the bed, Mycroft eyes were full of love mixed with pain. "Gregory... I... I can't stay with you. I know it's hard, we are just starting this and... and we definitely, definitely, need to talk! But right now, my brother is my priority and, I'm sorry if you can't accept..." But he was interrupted abruptly by Lestrade yanking on his coat until Holmes' face was only inches away from his.

"I understand, and I am completely on board with that. Bringing back Sherlock is  _our_  one and only priority right now." He smiles sheepishly, "but I just want to give you something before you fly away who knows where..." And placing his good hand behind Mycroft's head he finally brought their lips together. Hesitant and awkward at first, it was Mycroft's real first kiss after all, it quickly became urgent, messy and wonderful. It only lasts a minute or two, but it left them flustered, gasping for air, eyes shining… Everything that they had ever dreamed off. The starting point of a new life where they’ll never be alone again. Looking at the younger man with all the love he can muster, he simply presses his reddened lips one last time on his beloved forehead and murmurs “Time to be magnificent, love, go save Sherlock and kill those bastards.” After a pause, he chuckles. "But I am still a cop so I will deny that I ever said that until my dying day!"

Red as a beet, hot in places it didn’t seem possible, Mycroft runs to get back to Anthea.  _Oh God, the little minx is going to know right away!_

 

John was looking at a map of the Carpathians while the PA read emails when Mycroft entered the office. As soon as the cunning woman's eyes fall on her boss, she knew.  “You kissed! You kissed!”

“Don’t say things like that… It’s… Nothing. Nothing happened.” He discreetly points at John.  _This is not the right time!_

Shrugging his shoulders, John tries to ease Mycroft guilt. “It’s all right you know, I’m happy for you both that you were able to find a way… to talk through your differences.”

“Thank you, John, I know it’s really difficult for you right now.” Pressing a gentle hand on the man's back, he continues with a serious tone. “The presence and the support of DI Lestrade will only help me to win that battle, I guarantee you that he’s not a distraction but an asset.” Turning his eyes away he admits, mostly for himself, “I know anyway that the discussion is not over… I do not deserve to be forgiven so easily.” 

Engulfing the once too cold man in his harms, the doctor whispers with emotion in his voice. “I know Mycroft, I know that you won't abandon your brother…” Standing upright, as the soldier he used to be, he continues in a firmer tone. “We are getting him back. There’s no other option.” Walking to the desk where the map was, John explains, “AGRA contacted us regularly, as you asked, to inform us of their progress.” He points to highlighted areas on the map. “All of these have been surveyed thoroughly, without any trace of a stronghold, a house, anything. The surface left is now really small, and we should expect them to find where Sherlock is in the next few hours.” The doctor's voice fluttered again a bit as he pronounced his soulmate's name. Not knowing what’s going on, as the link between them was once more severed, was killing him. Smiling apologetically, his breathing became erratic as he enters the small bathroom quickly to calm himself a bit, leaving Mycroft and Anthea alone.

“How does he cope?” Holmes asks urgently, worried about John’s panic attack.

“The link is once more cut between them… So, we know nothing and that’s killing him.” The last hours have been horrible for John, with barely any new information, except that the different teams all over Europe are readying themselves for the countdown and that AGRA is still looking for Sherlock. “The idea that he may suffer without him knowing it, without being able to take a share of his pain, to send his courage and hope…” She shakes her hears gloomily, “Sherlock is certainly alive, or John wouldn’t be able to stand up presently. But we realize that the option that his captors have given him a suppressant for another reason that to be able to do as they wish with him is ludicrous.” Looking at her boss sadly, she concludes. “You know, I sincerely think you were wrong. John Watson is the perfect soulmate for your brother.” 

“Yes, I think you’re right… I was so wrong Anthea. So wrong on many accounts. Faith has given me the chance to show Sherlock how much I regret all that I had done in the past.” Opening one of the laptops laying around, he murmurs to himself. “Maybe AGRA is not our best option, let’s check them even more carefully and if I have any doubt I will send another team. It shouldn't be that long.” Smiling kindly at his PA he asked, “Is it possible to have coffee, dear? It’s going to be a long day…”

 

 

Sitting on the edge of the table, Moran took a sip from the bottle of Vodka.  _Steady man, don’t drink too much, you don’t want to lose a single moment of it!_ Turning his gaze to his prisoner, he admires his handy work. "How is doing, doctor?” He smirks. “Don’t fuss too much, just make sure that he won’t faint or die on me.”  _I am so not done…_ “Finished?”

“I need more time sir… And he’s… really… he needs more time to rest. You can’t…” The doctor stops, realizing what he just said. “I mean… You can do what you want, of course, of course… It’s just that if you need to get information of anything from that man, he must rest and…”

Walking near the metal bed, he looks at Holmes. The patching wasn’t completely done, but the larger gashes were now clean, some even have stitches.  _Stitches for God's grace, doing stitches on a soon to be dead man._  Both wrists were now covered in bandages as well as a what can only be called a protective layer…  _How could a sentimental man like this become the doctor for a criminal organization? It’s unbelievable!_ The man was quickly trying to do as much as possible to help Sherlock, he knew is time was running thin. A few minutes later, an impatient Moran simply orders, “get out.”

The old man hesitates, not liking the fact that the detective was still having to fight to stay conscious. “But…”

“GET. OUT.” Moran repeats, with a cold voice. The doctor quickly leaves the room, leaving his instruments and drugs behind. Once more alone with Moriarty’s nemesis, Moran murmurs to the nearly unconscious man “Ready for another round, my friend? We still have twelve hours left before the serum runs out… We can’t waste that quality time, can we?” Looking in the doctor's abandoned bag, he picked up a shot of adrenaline.  _Yeah, that’s going to do it nicely._

Hours passed as they worked to finalize the attack, Mycroft was in constant communication with MI6 and Interpol and everything was getting in place nicely.  _20 hours… In 20 hours… We’ve got 20 hours to find Sherlock or we will have to postpone the attack. If it’s possible. _The man didn’t tell Anthea and John, there’s no need to stress them even more, but he's seriously doubting that the plan can be postponed. The machine was already on its way. They needs to find Sherlock! He was looking at the map, where new sections were now coloured, praying that Sherlock was really in the few small areas left when John curses under his breath. “What? What did you find?”

“I was looking at Moran's files from the army…” Showing a line on the report he asks, “It may be irrelevant, but do you know that he’s got a sister?”

“What!” He turned on his heel to check Anthea. “How could we have missed that?”

“His records are non-existent, you know that!” The PA protests, feeling ashamed nevertheless.

“It’s not your fault, his files and government records are no longer available because of Moriarty’s handiwork probably. But a friend from my regiment scanned a print copy that was still in the archives of…” He pauses. “Who cares, the important thing is that we have it.” 

“A sister? Where is she?” Mycroft inquires urgently, wondering if the sister can be used as leverage.

“Don’t know…” John replies “Can’t find anything. She vanished a few years ago…”

“What’s her name?” Anthea asks, opening a new tab on her computer.

Not realizing the importance of the information, John read the name on the family info line of the form. “It’s… Mary-Rose Moran.”

The young woman screams “No!” as she locks her eyes on Mycroft’s.  _Rosamund Morstan_. “It can't be a coincidence…”

The government man sits heavily at his desk, picking up his phone he chooses a number numbly. “Elizabeth, we have a problem…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know! John's girlfriend that was called Mary in the few first chapters of this fic is not Moran's sister. It was a bit shortsighted for me to call her Mary, sorry about that! I've changed it for Sarah.


	40. 10 hours

“Everything okay?” Moran asks, speaking quietly into his phone.

“Yes, the team is still thinking we are looking for the missing agent… without knowing it's Holmes' brother, not knowing I'm not on their side... How could they be that silly? Unbelievable.” Mary-Rose laughs, thinking how they so easily manipulated the man who was supposed to ‘be’ the British government. “And you… everything progressing as you wished?"

Looking at the detective's unconscious form on the ground, he smiles. “Yes… but the serum is starting to fade. I must decide if I’m still playing or if I want his soulmate to suffer as well.” He sighs theatrically, making his sister laugh. “He’s fainting on me too often… it’s quite... disappointing.”

“I know, life is hard. Poor you…”

Getting back to business, he inquires, “have you spoken to Holmes recently?”

“Yes, an hour ago for my report.” She chuckles to herself. “He’s so gullible…  _Yes, Mister Holmes, it must be in the last squares kilometres that we haven't covered… We’ve got a good lead_ … Bla, bla, bla. This is so easy that’s it’s becoming pathetic!”

“I only need twenty-four hours and you’ll be able to do as you wish, Mary-Ro’.” Frowning, he considers the report he received an hour before. “But be careful, I have the feeling they are planning something big.”

“How could they, Holmes won’t do anything until his precious brother is safe.” One of her team members waves at a distance to get her attention. “Got to go Seb, be careful. Talk to you later tonight.”

“Okay, take care and be cautious… Holmes, even if he seems to be uncustomarily frazzled right now, is a strong opponent.” The feeling that something was coming wasn’t leaving him.  _It’s the damn place, it gives me the creeps!_

Thinking about how emotional her brother was when talking about Sherlock Holmes, Mary-Rose wasn’t able to completely push away her worries. “Same to you, you know… I have the feeling that even unconscious, younger brother can do some damage if he puts his mind to it.”

“ _Moran vs Holmes_. It was written in the stars, don’t you think.” Seb replies eerily.

“Yes, sometimes I think that Jim planned everything… he always said everything is in the details. That he’s still overseeing everything directly from Hell.”

“Maybe… Love you, bye.” Turning off his phone, Moran walks up to Sherlock and nudges him softly then not so gently with his feet. “Wake up!”

His voice broken from the screaming and the lack of water, Sherlock protests softly. “No… no… no more.”

“Ha! You’re awake. Good. You know, if I’ve checked my timing right, your dear Doctor Watson is going to be fully aware of what’s going on from now on…” He grinned as Sherlock’s expression darkened. “Any thing you want to share with the group?”

Unable to stop himself, the exhausted man replies without thinking, “that you’re a maniac and a sadistic bastard?”  Looking at Moran’s face, he adds, “and you haven’t slept in the last twenty-four hours and drank a little too much… Worried about what I can do if you leave me alone for an hour, Moran?” The mocking tone wasn’t appreciated by the ex-military man who quickly kicks Sherlock in his broken leg.

“I wonder if John is suffering right now…” He smirks as his enemy tries to keep his pain in control and murmurs. “You can try, you can push away the pain… you can disassociate yourself from it but, in one way or another, it’s going to find its path to your soulmate. Nothing can’t stop it now. Nothing, not even that big brain of yours.”

“I don’t understand… I am not the reason why your… your friend killed himself. HE’S the one who orchestrated everything! HE’S the one who pushed me until my only choice was to play his mind game! HE’S the one who pulled the trigger… NOT ME! And certainly not John Watson… Leave him out of this!” Closing his eyes to push away tears, he pleads sincerely for the first time in his life. “Do what you want of me… But give me the serum. Please, please… I will do anything… I can work for you… Or you can torture me as you wish but leave him out of this.” At Sebastian's little victorious smirk, he screams as loudly as it was possible in his state. “THIS IS BETWEEN YOU AND ME MORAN, LEAVE HIM OUT OF THIS!”

Squatting near Sherlock, he strokes his curls slowly, before his hand close and yanks until his victim winces. “It is because it’s between you and me that he’s going to suffer…” Pushing the detective’s head away, he jumps back on his feet. “Jim was always surprising me with little gifts, projects…” He tugs on the detective's hands. “Until you appeared. Until you became an obsession.” Catching the chains that were still hanging from the ceiling, he finally decided to switch the things a bit. “So... Let’s do something different! I do not want us to become like those relationships where nothing is surprising…” He was talking softly, for himself more than Sherlock's benefit. Removing the restraints that were still keeping his hands together, which was preserving the pull on his wounded right arm until now, he decidedly attached both hands separately giving Sherlock a new range of pain as his shoulder stretched, pulled down by Sherlock weight now that his legs gave way. The tearing of his sutures, as well as the swelling of any new injuries, was inevitable. 

Before Moran started anything new, the now too thin man was already suffering more than he had in the last twenty-four hours.

 

“Are you certain about this?” Anthea was looking at her boss with anxiety.

“Yes, we have no other choice, you know this… the deadline must be respected, the strings I had to pull to be able to have every agency working together won’t last long.” He thinks about the small new team that was on its way to get their hands on Moran's sister. “I hope that everything… Oh God. This complication was the last thing they needed! But we must eliminate her and trust the rest of the team to be faithful to their words… Or at least to the money they were paid!” By monitoring her phone calls, they were unable to listen to the actual content of the discussion but they were able to know where she was calling. She was making regular calls to a location not 200 kilometres away from her current location. Guessing that she was calling her brother wasn’t a big leap. If they were right, the ‘chance’ that Sherlock was with Moriarty's right-hand man was high and they would be able to save him shortly…

 

The PA was monitoring the red dot that represented the small group path out of England to the little village in Serbia. “The team should be there in 5 hours… We must have faith in them.”

“I hate that I can’t do ANYTHING! I should be there, looking for him, not here…” Dropping heavily into his desk chair, he places his head in his hands trying to calm his thoughts. As is feeling of being useless was rising, a wave of calmness overcome everything.  _Gregory…_ Smiling, Mycroft shakes his head to push away the last of his defeatist feelings.  _It’s going to be okay…_

“You are where you should be, Sir. Someone must oversee everything, must be the central contact to keep this running smoothly.  You know that they won’t talk to me, you’re the one with the power. I’m just a PA!” As her boss humph, she grins softly. “You know it’s the truth…  And for now, if I may, Mycroft… Go sit with Inspector Lestrade for a few hours, I will stay here and let you know if something comes up.” As Holmes was ready to protest, she continues, “nothing will happen until the team arrives in Serbia. We really can do nothing… If it will make you feel better, you can strategize with the DI about how to deal with Sherlock's return to London and his work with Scotland Yard.”

Smiling for the first time in hours at the idea that the place where he could be the most useful right now is actually near his soulmate, he jumps from his chair, nods at the young woman and walks quickly out of his office.

 

Half an hour later,  as he had to wait for his chauffeur to bring back a nice meal, he finally enters his soulmate’s room with his hands full of wonderfully smelling goodies. Greg, turning his head when the door opened, smiles tenderly. “Don’t tell me you are bringing me real food Mycroft?” He points to the tray that was still laying on his side-table, shaking his head sadly. “I thought that being in a high-end secret hospital… but no. Hospital food is hospital food.” Laughing, Holmes puts down the bags, happy that his little gift was well received.

“First thing first! Coffee!” With a flourish, he extends his hand to give a big cup of a perfectly brewed coffee to Greg.

Taking quickly a first sip, the detective sighs in contentment. “How did you know what I put in… Sorry, scratch that. I’m certain you know everything about me already, including my favourite brand of toothpaste and pants.”

Reddening at the mention of underwear, they were far from that, he mumbles, “It’s nothing, I haven’t spied on you… It’s just that I have a good memory and…”

“My’, My’… It’s okay.  I was joking.” Greg explains quickly, wanting to chase away the confusion in his soulmate eyes. “I know that you are not a stalker.”

Looking at the floor, the government man admits, quietly. “I may have followed you with CCTV… a few times. Because I was worried about your security and… I am sorry for that. Really. It was an intrusion upon your personal life and I shouldn’t have.”

“I understand, I can’t say that I never did that. I’m a cop, remember… I may not have the right to look at CCTV around the UK or the world… But I can easily access London.” Waving in the direction of the bags, he asks with mirth, “what’s next?”

“Oh… a little bit of everything. I didn’t know how hungry you were or if the anesthesia or painkillers were still playing havoc with your stomach.” A little bit shy, as he realizes he did bring too many things, he opens the different bags. Sandwiches, delicious chicken salad, chocolate mousse, fresh fruit, oatmeal cookies, soup in a thermos container… Nothing too spicy or fancy. Good comfort food.

“This is a real first-class picnic My’!”  _I am so hungry suddenly, and he looks so pleased that I am content. I can’t believe how much I love him already…_

“It’s just that… I was under the impression that it was my job to… No, not my job, my duty maybe. No, that's not the word... Maybe that... more precisely, I felt the urgent need to bring you food.” Shaking his head at his own rambling, Mycroft chuckled. “Oh God, I am terrible at this…”

“No, no… I think you’re doing really great. Come on My’, sit on the bed with me. It’s more than enough for two and I’m certain that you haven't eaten that well recently.” After they ate a few minutes in silence, Holmes starts fussing with his salad. “What’s wrong? You are worried about Sherlock…”

“Of course, always.” He sighs but decides to be honest. “But right now, it's only… You know… You know what you are calling me? I…” He stops, not knowing how to express his thoughts.

“What? When I’m calling you My’?” Greg pauses his fork a moment, frowning. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it… It’s just that Mycroft – even if I like it that your name is as unique as you are – is a kind of a mouthful!” He chuckles before adding softly “… And I don’t think we are already to the stage of using terms of endearment, you know. I hope you’re not…”

“No, no it’s  okay. It’s just that except my mom or Sherlock… No one ever… In fact, most of my acquaintance are still calling me ‘Sir’ or ‘Mister Holmes’ after years... So… It’s new. That’s all, but it’s good.” His eyes locked themselves on Gregory. "I... like it, it makes me feel good, special…”

Taking the other man's hand, Greg whispers ,“you are special…” As difficult as it was, they kept their hands linked for the whole meal. Feeding each other whenever it was possible, eyes shining with love and happiness. But that little bubble of joy burst promptly as a trouble Anthea knocks on the door.

“So sorry to… But… John’s tell me that it started again. I’ve convinced him to take sleeping pills as for the next few hours we are only waiting anyway and that he needs to keep up his strength.” She was constantly fidgeting with her Blackberry, far away from her usual calm demeanour. “He said… he said that it was worse… worse than when he was shot in Afghanistan.” Her voice broke, and she turns away to hide her tears.

Walking slowly over to her, Mycroft places a comforting hand on her shoulder, pulling her closely to him. “My dear, Anthea… Everything going to end well. Fate can’t do that to us after all that suffering…”  With Anthea crying in his arms, John’s suffering, his soulmate eyes full of anguish and the thought of his brother in the hands of a maniac, Mycroft Holmes was thinking about how many lives were on hold for the next few hours.  _Please, please, please make sure that everything is going to go well from now on!_ _If someone needs to be punished it's me..._ _Not them_ _!_  


	41. 5 hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only 5 hours left before the destruction of what's left of Moriarty's network, they must find Sherlock. Now!

The team of four men,  all personally selected by Mycroft - was walking furtively in the forest, trying to get to AGRA’s camp without being seen too soon, but without seeming to be a threat. Their excuse, that they are there to assist on this last leg of the search wouldn't work if AGRA saw them as the enemy! The trip to Serbia had gone as it should, the few hours direct flight, courtesy of a private jet, helped and the men were in good shape, ready for the mission. 

Suddenly, the first agent raises his hand to stop his teammates. Following the direction he was indicating, the others saw three members of AGRA sitting around a fire.

“Where is the fourth one… is it Morstan?” The agent closing their group whispers. His colleagues retreat so as to not be overheard.

“Yes, they are all men, so Morstan is away from the group.” After a pause when he looks in the eyes of the other three. “Is  _everyone_  on board?” The leader appointed by Holmes asks. “We may have to fight them… or kill her.”

“Yes!” the other three reply without hesitation.

“Okay then, let’s go.” They start walking toward the little group, with a relaxed, friendly demeanour and without hiding themselves. One of the mercenaries spotted them immediately.

Raising his arm, he orders “STOP! Who are you!”

“Agent Hanes here, Mr Holmes sent us to assist with the search…”

Suspecting something, the man asks, frowning. “Why? We searched nearly everywhere, only a small manageable area remains.”

“I know, Morstan informed Holmes regularly of your advancement.” Looking around, he asked, “Where is she?”

“On the phone a little bit further, why?”

“Okay, we have only a few minutes… Listen to me!"

 

 

Moran was outside the cell where he leaves an unconscious Sherlock –  _frankly, it’s tiresome all that fainting!_  – for a real meal and a shower when his sister called. “Hey! Mary-Ro.”

“Seb, how are things going on your side?” Her tone was light, knowing that the end was near.

“Fine! Seeing him falling further into despair is truly… rewarding. I took some pictures of his eyes for you, they are haunted, without light. For someone who used to be called a ‘genius’… If Jim could... Anyway! Ha! He’s already gone, he tried to control his pain so much that he’s nearly catatonic. I think I’m going to end this in the next round, it’s becoming oddly repetitive. And I don’t like the rumours that I received about something big… Even if it’s not for us, the idea of new activities from Interpol or MI6 agents in the area is not good news.”

“Okay, I’m going to clean up and join you. If everything goes well, you should expect me within the next two hours.”  _Finally, those imbeciles are really driving me crazy!_

“Perfect, take care of you… I’ll be waiting here.” Moran closes his phone and after he puts on clean clothes, he went to the cave.  _Time to finish this._

Mary-Rose, guns in hand, walks back to the camp planning to ‘terminate’ the AGRA phase of her life

 

It didn’t take a lot of discussions to turn AGRA against the woman they knew as Rosamund Morstan. Even mercenaries have a code of honour, and the idea that they have been manipulated to serve as puppets for Sebastian Moran was insupportable. The plan was for Mycroft's men to hide until Morstan returned and to attack her by surprise from behind. The fact that she returned armed and ready to kill them erase any doubt the rest of her team had! While she was focusing on trying to kill her men, it was surprisingly easy to attack her from behind, shooting her in the leg and the shoulder. Once she was down, they handcuff her and left her with one of Holmes’ man, as Moran’s sister's teammates weren’t to be trusted near her! 

They do want to bring her alive to MI6 after all…

The new gang, composed of Holmes’ men and the rest of AGRA, quickly jump in a jeep to rush to the last place still left to be investigated.

 

 

Moran was trying to coax Sherlock into talking to him when he heard the first gunshots. A flash of recognition passes through the detective's eyes. “No… no… don’t even think that you are going out of here alive!”  _I’ve still got a few minutes before they’re found the entry to get down here and the exit door to the tunnel is just a few meters away. I’ve got the time to end this and minutes to spare…_  Hating that the wounded man was suddenly breathing less laboriously, he starts beating him relentlessly with a metal bar. “STOP! STOP RIGHT NOW! YOU. ARE. NOT. GETTING. OUT. OF. HERE. ALIVE!” As Moran pulls to released both chains that were keeping the detective up, Sherlock drops to the concrete into a pool of his own blood. The mad criminal, rushing to his bottle of alcohol, quickly and desperately sprays Sherlock with it, wanting a reaction, anything from his nemesis. He wasn’t disappointed, Sherlock's eyes opened wildly as he screamed at the top of his lungs, the strong alcohol burning his open flesh. Smiling, exhausted physically and mentally, Moran drops the bottle on the floor. Closing his eyes for a second, he appreciates the last minute before he shoots Holmes in the guts... when he realized something strange.

The man on the floor wasn’t the only one screaming. 

Turning to the door of the cell, his eyes meet an agonized but furious John Watson.

Seeing his soulmate for the first time in a year, the doctor's instincts were to run to him, but his legs weren’t able to support him anymore. “Sherlock!” The pain the man he loves has been through over the last hour was horrible, and John didn’t faint on will alone, knowing that he can finally do something! As soon as he heard his screams, he pushes all the energy he was able to muster from his aching body. But now, his hand on the wall was the only thing that was keeping him up, his soulmate's pain horribly occupying every space in his body.  _Where are the others?_   The sounds of battle were still resonating upstairs where the other men were valiantly fighting the criminals. Wanting to help. But the situation wasn’t that worrisome. They were outnumbered of course, but the element of surprise was a great advantage and John was certain that the victory was theirs. In fact, he shouldn’t be there but an old man showed him the way to the cell… 

Amazed by Watson's presence, Moran whistles derisively to hide his astonishment. “Oh… You’re still up! That’s quite impressive you know… Are you certain you are his soulmate?” Stepping on Sherlock's newly broken hand until the pain became too much and the shattered man fainted of pain and lack of energy… “Again? I don’t know what’s going on nowadays, they were more resistant before.” Laughing at his joke, he failed to realize that if Sherlock is unconscious… the only emotion left in John was the fury and the hatred he was feeling for the ex-military man.

Raising his gun in his now steady hand, he shouts “Get away from my soulmate!” before shooting Moran directly in the knees. Unable to stand, falling to the hard cement floor, Moran shouts with rage as the pain and anger remove any sense of self-preservation.

“You are not supposed to be here! How could you! The last twenty-four hours should have brought you down…”

“I took sleeping pills, you idiot.” It was hard for the doctor to accept that strangers had to care for him while they travelled to Serbia, but it was worth it! Since he became conscious three hours ago, once they arrived in Carpathia, he only took painkillers but nothing too strong because he wanted to be coherent and alert. “You are so going to pay for this… You have no idea what we got in store for you.” Using the butt of his gun he smashes Moran's jaw. The exhaustion of the last few hours finally piles up and the blond man slowly collapses near Sherlock, holding his hand, crying softly as he cradles his lover's head on his lap. He never saw Seb desperate move to get to his gun that was only at an armlength's away, where he fell when John attacked him. Finally able to grip it, he was readying himself to kill John and Sherlock when a bullet passed through his heart.

Eyes wide, Moran looks with amazement to the man who shoots him. “You… you… but…” The old doctor, who had followed a few meters after John hoping to be able to help with Sherlock wounds, was shaking, not knowing what to do with the just fired weapon.

“You are not a good man…” He stutters, letting the gun drop on the floor. “I’ve had enough of all this.”

Sebastian's laughter at the strange turn of events quickly changes to sobs as he presses his hand to his wound. “In the head… like Jim… not the heart… the heart… the heart is nothing…” He was looking at his hands as he moans incoherently, his fingers now covered in blood. “Watson, Watson… You are a man of honour, right?” He was suffering so much that his voice was barely audible. “You know what love his… promise me… I’ve got a little sister… I… I… put things aside for her… I don’t want her to… lose anything… my sister…”

Interrupting the dying man, John raises his head from Sherlock for a second. With a hard look, he mutters just loud enough that Moran was able to hear. “Your sister? She’s severally injured and she’s going to end her life in prison.” With a smirk he adds, “we had to stop her own team from killing her. And you know what? My first thought wasn’t to stop them, but to ask the others to give me the honour of informing you that we have her… She’s lucky to be alive, if she was in my care…”

Looking at John with glassy eyes, Moran mutters with his last breath,“you can’t harm a wounded woman, you can’t do that to her, Watson… You are a doctor…”

Looking with disgust at Moran’s dying body, John whispers to himself. “No, not today. Today I am a soldier. And a soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally together! Okay... Sherlock may not be up to cuddle for a day or two but... ;-) Yeah!
> 
> And Allyance - Moran's kneecaps destruction: Checked!
> 
> And just realize that I'm at the HP Chamber of Secrets length! OMG! (Chamber of Secrets: 85,141 words)


	42. 5 hours ago...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little recap of the event from John point of view...

“Are you out of your mind?” Mycroft was fuming, looking at John as if he was actually ready for a padded room!  _The man won't listen to reason, it's been nearly an hour and he's still fighting me on this. I realize that this is a necessary quality for someone with Sherlock as soulmate, but this is ridiculous!_  “My team is…”  
  
“Not big enough!” For John it was the only logical choice and he didn’t understand Mycroft's stubbornness _._  “You told us a few minutes ago, that you’ve got three men with field experience ready to go, with me it will be four. Like AGRA.” John was standing cross-armed in front of Mycroft, trying to impose his view.  _Damn, the man is obstinate!_  
  
The government man's calm demeanour was long gone, and they were moments away from screaming at each other as Anthea, having left the room half-an-hour ago, wasn’t there to referee the discussion. “No! You won’t go there, don’t even try… You are staying here, that’s all. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Turning on his heels, he walks behind his desk and sits down.  _End of discussion!_ __  
  
Banging his fist on the desk, John didn’t let the matter drop. “WHY? And you know that Sherlock going to need a doctor… Don’t be so rigid, you are not my boss, and not my brother!”  
  
Rising once more to tower over the shorter man, Mycroft repeats quietly, “I said no.” Then add with a smirk, “Anyway, you won’t be able to get there if I revoke your passport.”   
  
“Why?”  _This discussion isn't going anywhere_! “Give me one good reason!”  
  
After a moment, in which both men focused on each other in restless silence, Holmes explains firmly, but quietly. “I’ve made a promise to keep you safe, I won’t send you to deal with Moran in the middle of Serbia.”

“If you want to still have a brother to which you owe your promise, the only solution is to let me go. And you know it.” John articulates slowly.

Closing his eyes, Mycroft presses a tired hand to his forehead as he falls back into his chair.  _I can't let him do it… If something happens… He… He will hate me for the rest of his life. The little window I’ve got for redemption will close on me forever. But… what’s more important, bringing Sherlock here alive or that he accepts me again as a brother, as a friend. And does John being there help the rescue, of course… I am not an imbecile. But I can not sacrifice John to save Sherlock as my brother will probably commit suicide or fall into drugs again if something happens to his soulmate._

Knowing that the other man torments were real, John sits on the edge of the desk. “Mycroft… I know that it is risky, I am not a moron. But… I can't sit here doing nothing… It’s driving me crazy.” His anxiety was high since he woke from his artificial slumber in a general painful state without anything he could point to specifically. Now that the connection between them was fully functional he  _needs_  to get him out of Serbia and back home!

With a deep sigh, the government man thought about how far he was willing to go if something happened to Gregory. “Can you promise me that you…” Without letting Mycroft finish his thought, John extends his hand.

“Yes, I promise.” 

 

Half an hour later, after a final briefing while en route to the airport, John and three of Mycroft's best men were in a private plane heading towards a small landing field a few kilometres from the edge of the Carpathian Mountains. Their plan was straightforward and did not leave room for too many surprises. Each minute counted. The doctor was standing a bit away from the others, watching them checking maps and readying their arms. Trying to appraise their strengths and weaknesses.  _I am probably the weakest link here! Thank God the fact that Sherlock’s name is now clear gave back Mycroft all the power he had possessed before the Holmes name was spread in the news..._ He was trying to relax when a wave of terrible pain passed through his limbs, pushing the light anxiety he was feeling away. Not wanting to alert the agents, he tries to stay calm as long as possible. Breathing in and out slowly, focussing on sending good thoughts to his soulmate, thinking about the pleasant things he wishes they could do together one day.  _We never went to the British Museum together, I bet Sherlock will be able to deduce the mummies!_  But he was unable to hold back the gasp at the feeling of having his,  _no Sherlock’s_ , fingers break. Hanes – the senior agent in charge of the mission – drops to his knees in front of John.

“Are you all right, mate?” Hanes asks with concern in his eyes. He was - as well as his men - aware of the specifics of the mission, so he wasn’t surprised even if he would have preferred that anything that the poor man soulmate was subjected to stopped until they found him. Taking out a kit, he unrolls it on the seat next to the doctor. “This is what I was instructed to give to you if something like this happened before we reach our destination.” The kit consisted of three syringes, each with a label detailing how many hours the heavy sedative would be effective. “As we still have three hours of flight time, I’m going to give you a three hour break.” John shakes his head slowly but with resolution, tears in his eyes.   _I don’t want to sever the link with him, I will not abandon him in his time of need._  The agent smiled sadly. “The boss told me to remind you that you promised to be careful, to follow my orders and to do everything possible to bring his brother back.” He was murmuring, not wanting to get the other worried. “And, right now, sleeping that pain away is the only thing that you can do. Because if you go through that for hours – and though I really don’t wish that on Mister Holmes – you will not be in any shape to help us accomplish our mission.” Placing a hand on John's forearm, he asks softly. “Ready?”

Finally acknowledging that remaining in decent shape, was the only thing he can do now to help his love, John nods gloomily, his heart screaming in anguish at the idea of leaving Sherlock alone.  _I’m coming love… Stay brave…_ A few minutes later, he drops into a heavy sleep.

Even with his drug-induced sleep, John was agitated. Nightmare after nightmare, images of his soulmate being beaten, tortured, were constantly present. When he wakes up three hours later, as promised, the plane was on the verge of landing. He was still feeling uneasy, anxious, but the pain was once more like a dull afternote and not violently excruciating.

“Watson, you’re all right?” Hanes inquires, observing John with eagle eyes but keeping their discussion away from the two other men.

“Yes, don’t worry. I won’t put any of you in peril…” He replies in a hard tone. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. You are risking everything for...”

“It’s our job, you don’t have to be sorry about anything. And, listen, I know your background. You have an impeccable army record… I have no doubt about your abilities. Just, sometimes... emotions… You know.”

“Right now, I just want to bring my soulmate home with me. If following you around like a lapdog without arguing is the way to go, I will.”  _I am too exhausted to argue with anybody… anyway_

“Good.” Hanes nods, satisfied. “Buckle up, we are landing in 10 minutes.”

 

 

An hour later, they were with the remaining three men of AGRA, looking at the criminal’s compound where Sherlock _, no the target_ , was. The new additions to Holmes’ group were quickly adjusting to Hanes’ leadership.

“Too bad we weren’t able to get anything from Moran’s sister, but anyway knowing him his sister probably didn't know that much.” Looking at the building, he was frowning a little. “They are not expecting us... this is our chance.”  _Only one hour, fifteen minutes before the joint attack on Moriarty's last associates._ “Watson, you are with me.”Silently motioning to the eclectic group, he sent two of his men with one of AGRA’s to the secondary door while he, John and the others rush to the front door. It was surprisingly easy to get inside and to clear out the first floor, the twenty or so criminals were not real fighters and the dozen members of Stonajovic’s security team never stood a chance against heavily armed mercenaries and field trained agents. Hanes was breathing heavily, looking at the now secured structure when he realized something. “Where’s Watson!”

 

John, pushing away a radiant pain, separated from the team quickly as soon as they entered the building, scouting out as many rooms as possible, looking for Sherlock.  _Where are you my love, where are you..._ The battle was raging around him, but it wasn’t important. Walking with purpose, even if his limbs were killing him, he swiftly knocked off any man going in his way. Opening door, trying to find a clue... something. Not wanting to alarm Moran, he was restraining from simply shouting his lover’s name at the top of his lungs with difficulty. Turning carefully into a new corridor, he stops suddenly as a shaking man raises his hands in the air, pleading in a Slavic language unknown to John. then shifts to a broken English.

“No shoot, no shoot... No... No... bad. Doctor. Doctor only...” Still thinking about the poor young man in the basement, he adds with a bit more conviction. “Man, torture...”

“WHO?” John interrupts him rapidly.

“Bad man... Blond Demon... Moran.” Seeing that John wasn’t there to kill him, he drops his hands slowly. “And... Dark hair... Thin...” Remember the rumours he stuttered as he utters “The... The... Dark Angel. Holmes.”

“Show me! NOW!”

 

   

After the battle was won, Hanes finally finds them in the cave.  Holmes’ brother was looking awful, but an unknown old man was taking care of the most serious injuries as John cradles Sherlock softly in his arms... It was a miracle that John, being a doctor himself, was letting someone else care for his soulmate. But he was so tired, so empty. The man who helped him find Moran had rushed to his medicine bag that was still laying in the corner of the cell and, after a lot of cajoling, John finally allowed him to touch Sherlock. He was doing his best in another way, trying to help his breathing, to keep his soulmate calm. Sending all the energy he could through their link. 

A few men improvised a hastily built stretcher and were ready to move Sherlock and leave the compound. John, still tattered but in better shape now that the doctor had given Sherlock a heavy dose of sedation, kneels near his soulmate. “We’re leaving love...” He kisses his forehead worshipfully.  _Our first kiss..._  But Sherlock was strangely restless, trying to grab at something near him on the floor. “It’s ok Sherlock, you don’t need that filthy rag anymore, we’ve brought you a change of clothing.”  _Anyway, blankets are going the only thing we can put on him for a while... Oh God, my poor, poor love._ But Sherlock was still fussing restlessly, mumbling unintelligible words. Picking up the nearly destroyed shirt, Hanes checked it thoroughly before finding something that he gave to John.   

It was the doctor's picture, tattered and stained by blood; Sherlock’s constant companion over the last year.

Kissing Sherlock’s lips softly John murmurs, “you’ve got me for real now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2018/06/03: 
> 
> Still few chapters before the end... But the last few days have been mental, long hours etc And tomorrow is the 4th year anniversary of the death of my papa so I'm not in a good mindset to write. But don't worry, fluffiness is coming!
> 
> Love, 
> 
> Morgane


	43. Home

They decided to stabilize Sherlock enough to return to London, where a room was waiting for him in the facility where Greg was already recovering, instead of dealing with a local hospital. The three-hour flight was exhilarating for John.  _We won, we are bringing him home!_ The feeling was unbelievable. The thought that all of last year's efforts to change the public's perception of Sherlock, to clear his name, everything they had done to get him back alive... it all worked!   _The media are going to be mental when the announcement that Sherlock Holmes is alive goes public!_  He chuckles silently at the idea that Mycroft has a list of journalists that won’t be able to write a single line until the end of their lives...  _Some of them really were bastards and they deserved nothing less for the hell they put us through!_ Smiling adoringly at a slumbering Sherlock, he was once more amazed that the beautiful, courageous, brilliant man was his.  _He’s mine, how could I be so lucky?_  The bad trick Mycroft Holmes put over on them was forgotten for the moment, but he was certain that his soulmate was going to make him pay one way or another.

The doctor stayed near the military grade stretcher, holding his hand while watching him sleep. A heavy sedative was helping the detective to manage the pain while allowing him a long overdue rest. Making good use of the well-stocked pharmacy on the plane, John already had spent time dressing many cuts just enough to make Sherlock more comfortable and to avoid infection, even as he knew that surgery was inevitable for some of them.  _And his right hand, and if they'd been much longer, how much worse it could have been... Oh, my poor love._ The oxygen mask was helping, the bluish hue of his skin had finally dissipated. After a last look to check that the IV drip was functioning correctly, a sedative as well as for hydration, and nutrients, John finally closes his eyes while holding Sherlock’s left hand. He falls asleep quickly, sitting on the floor of the small aeroplane, his head leaning on the thin mattress. His heart at peace for the first time in years.

 

The vibration of the plane as they hit strong winds wakes him two hours later. Panicking at the thought of having left Sherlock alone so long, he quickly checks his vital signs before sighing in contentment.  _Everything is stable. Good... Great_. Knowing Sherlock as well as does, he cautiously cleans his lover’s face with a damp, warm towel, as he knows that he won’t like to be so dirty when he finally awakens.  John sighs as he continues to remove blood and grime from his soulmate's body, knowing that it will be some time before Sherlock will be able to bathe properly.  _And that beard got to go! I must brace myself for some major sulking! But I don’t mind... I don’t mind at all. I’ll be the most patient of men, the most caring doctor, the most loving soulmate... Boyfriend.  Are we boyfriends now?_ The idea that they are really a pair now, two parts of the same soul, of the same heart, was breath-taking.

“Is he doing better?” The voice of Hanes brought John out of his reverie.

“He’s sleeping, no fever, his breathing is better with the oxygen mask... Otherwise, I need x-rays and scans to know the extent of the damage.”

With an  _I’m-sorry-but-_ expression on hisface, the agent tells John “You do know that you are also in need of medical attention, or at least of a good day of uninterrupted sleep. Anyway, because of your connection to Sherlock, they won’t let you treat him. You are going to have to let the hospital doctors and surgeons do their jobs.”

“I know... I know... But I won’t be far, from him - not ever again!” The doctor replies with steel in his voice.

Laughing quietly as to not disturb Sherlock, Hanes turns to go back to his seat. “We are landing in fifteen minutes.”

 

Mycroft and Anthea were waiting on the tarmac for what seems like hours. “What’s taking them so long?” He mutters, impatiently tapping his umbrella on the ground.

Anthea managed to stop herself from reminding him, ‘I told you we were too early’, and moved closer to her boss. “The plane should be here in half an hour, Sir, do you want to check the status on the latest missions?” She motions to the car. Dropping his shoulders, Mycroft followed her in silence to the sedan. “The last updates I've received are all positive. The dozens of Moriarty’s associates left are all dead or in custody, their affairs in jeopardy or already destroyed.” Showing a point on her laptop, she continues with concern. “We are waiting for news from Interpol on that drug lord in Marseille and from MI6 about the specialists in financial fraud in Ireland.” As she was looking at the list, her phone rings with the news that the two attacks were also successful with only minimal injuries on their side. She smiles reassuringly, knowing that it was over. “With the death of Moran and his sister in custody, Moriarty is now finally a ghost. We won.” 

“Yes...” The older Holmes looks outside as the plane was approaching the airfield. “But at what cost...”. They both quickly step out of the car, Mycroft's driver in tow.

“Hope you don’t mind, Sir, but I developed quite a fondness for Doctor Watson and I am happy to know that he’s back safe and sound.”

“I am f _ond_ as well, Simpson, and you are welcome to assist them when the plane land.” Spotting one of his men near the waiting ambulance, he called out. “Thompson!”

“Yes, Sir?” The agent rushes to Mycroft's side.

“Everything in order?”

“Yes, Sir. The ambulance is ready, waiting to bring Mister Holmes to the hospital as quickly as possible, we have a doctor and a nurse on board. I informed them of the presence of the patient's soulmate, Doctor Watson, and they are ready and willing to deal with the situation with diplomacy and goodwill.”

“Perfect...” But Mycroft wasn’t paying attention to the people around him as the plane was now slowing just a few meters away from where they were standing.  _My brother, finally... Mummy, your youngest son is back..._ He was trying to stay calm, wishing for the tenth time that Gregory was near him. His panic was rising at the idea of seeing his brother, his brother who hates him, for the first time in a year. Trying to keep his calm without appearing cold was hard!  _I don’t know what to do, how to act, what to say... Maybe he’s going to be asleep still... and..._ Anthea was looking at him with concern when, suddenly, a wave of peace and love floods his stress away.  _Gregory... I am so blessed. And to think that we nearly..._ _   _

The plane finally stopped. A minute later, the door opens to Hanes who was rapidly followed by two of his strongest men holding Sherlock's stretcher as horizontally as possible until they touch the ground and can use the wheels, making transport easier. A few steps behind was John, still exhausted but beaming.

“John! How is he...” Mycroft was looking at his brother intently, not liking the dark colours of the bruises, the blood, the broken angles of his right hand. “Is he stable... the oxygen mask... why?”

“I’ll go quickly, we are going to talk longer at the hospital don’t worry. I just removed the IV, he’s still sedated. He’s in bad shape, but nothing too serious I think but only a scan, x-rays and blood analysis can really determine what is going on internally. The oxygen is a precaution, he was having difficulty breathing, I'm worried about broken ribs... he has a broken hand, broken leg...some lacerations...” John's happiness from having Sherlock home evaporated quickly from having to name the injuries aloud and watching Mycroft's face begin to crumble. “He is in bad shape,... but it could have been so much worse.”

“Ok, go to the ambulance with him, we will follow with the car. Just know that the missions were all successful. This is officially over.”

Placing a hand on his (future) brother-in-law’s shoulder, he murmurs a tired “Good... good...” before walking back to Sherlock to supervise his transfer to the ambulance. As Hanes and Holmes walk back to the plane to get Moran's sister, Thompson, walking near the doctor, stops him a minute.

“Sir, you don’t know me but I’m the man who was in charge of travelling with Mr. Holmes on his first mission in Russia.” He pauses and salutes solemnly.  “I can’t thank you enough for bringing him home. He’s a great man, courageous, a genius and his death would have been a great loss to his family as well as for England.” He drops his salute, extending his hand in a more personal way. "Captain, also... sorry to keep you from leaving... But I just want to tell you that I am the brother of Corporal Thompson who... who died in Afghanistan the day you were injured, I know it happened while you were trying to save his life. And, for that, my family would like to thank you from the bottom of our heart and wish you and Mr. Holmes only the very best from now on. You deserve it. You both deserve it.”

Taking the hand in his two smaller ones, John smiles, his emotions from over the last day are finally beginning to take over. “Thank you, Thompson, don’t hesitate to come to talk with Sherlock when he has recovered enough to have visitors. I’ll let you know.” After a second he continues softly “And we could talk about your brother if you want... He was a good soldier, an even better man."

“That’s really nice of you to say, doctor, I will. I will... Go, they are waiting for you.”

Rushing to the ambulance that was waiting for him, John takes back Sherlock’s hand not letting it go while the ICU doctor begins to work on his soulmate.  _Can you feel it, love, we are in London._  His eyes close, trying to send all his love, all of his energy to the man he loves when he felt a light pressure on his hand. Opening his eyes, he was finally able to see the detective’s beloved cerulean blue irises.

“Jo... John... is that you? Where... where are we? It smells... nice... London?”

The voice was broken and weak, but to John it was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. His own voice choked with emotion, the doctor squeezes his hand gingerly and murmurs while pressing a small kiss on Sherlock's forehead. “Yes, love, it’s me. And you’re right... we’re home.”


	44. Are we doing this now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Gregory's relationship is 'very affirming' (Yes - I got that from a book!) And, after a few days, Sherlock is finally fully awake. This is good news, right?

Mycroft was watching from afar, not knowing what could be done about the situation.  _This is not good... Is it so difficult to simply be with John?_  It was hard to not listen to the voice inside him that was constantly murmuring,  _‘it’s your fault... it’s your fault if Sherlock does not know what to do...’_   The feeling of a presence behind him suddenly causes his skin to tingle.  _Tingle... as if we were in uni._ Without turning his head, he smiles trying to push away his concern and guilt away for few minutes,  simply happy that Gregory was in better shape. The last few days, it’s been three days now since Sherlock's arrival at the hospital, have seen a lot of progress on Lestrade's situation. The pain was now managed with a generic pain medication in caplet form instead of being constantly attached to an IV line. His movements were still laboured, especially twisting, but the improvement was clearly noticeable and if it wasn’t for Mycroft desire to keep him near, he could have been at home already. “Gregory, good to see you are going well and are able to walk around a bit.”

“Still hurts like hell, being shot is the worst... But I know that if it wasn’t for your intervention, I would have been pushed out of this posh hospital days ago.” He chuckles, curiously happy that Mycroft was honest enough with his feelings to find a way to keep him near him. “It’s ok... Love the pampering now that I am well enough, it’s like being in a spa!” He laughs more openly before wincing, a hand on his wound. “Ouch. This sucks... but nothing can compare to what happened to Sherlock... And now that we know that he didn’t catch a nasty bug and won't be harmful to my recovery, I want to see him. It’s been three days! But, first thing first, is that John I hear bellowing?” The DI was looking curiously at a closed door not thick enough to cover the shouts of a furious John Watson in full Captain Watson mode.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is...” Mycroft sighs. 

“But... why?” The last time the policeman talked to his friend, John was tired but peaceful at the idea of having his soulmate near and out of danger. It was clear that the doctor wasn't being 100% honest, but Greg didn't worry, all too consumed by his own happiness. "Is Sherlock already back to being a git?" 

"It's my injured brother you're talking about Gregory... Even if I must admit that Sherlock and hospitals have never been a good mix." He smiles sadly before closing his eyes few seconds, not knowing where to start. Turning to look at his soulmate, he proposes casually, “Let’s go in my office, it’s calmer and you’re going to be able to sit comfortably on the sofa while we talk...” 

“Only if you sit with me...” Lestrade replies with a sexy smirk, waiting for the closing of the lift door to press a gentle kiss on his soulmate's lips.

 

A few minutes later, as soon as Greg sits on the comfortable sofa with a ton of pillows, he pats playfully on the seat beside him. “Come on, explain to me what’s going on.” Mycroft, who was busy making tea, chuckles softly.

“Not so quick, Gregory... You are going to need tea for this story. It’s going to keep your mouth _occupied_ while I explain what has transpired over the last few days. I am not an idiot... I know why you want me on the sofa.” His flirty tone suddenly sent a wave of heat to Greg’s stomach, butterflies flying frantically. Mycroft presses a quick peck to his soulmate’s lips before sitting on the sofa. “Anyway, you are still recovering... so we must take it slow.” They stay silent for a moment, drinking their tea while touching hands. Fingers entwine on the settee.

It was already such a miracle for both of them... The Ice Man who thought he wasn’t made for love, neither giving it nor precious enough to deserve it and the divorced detective who was certain that his soulmate was dead and lost to him willing to forgive everything to get at last a chance to love.

 _Fate is a strange thing... Maybe all this is what was planned for us since the dawn of time.  Myc’s attitude towards sentiment, my relationship with a serial adulterer. The way John and Sherlock's story mingles with ours._ Of course, he was still angry for the missing years, for the distress caused by his divorce, Mycroft's decision to control his life instead of giving them a bloody chance. And the lies... all the lies... Lying to his brother about being a soulmate, lying to him for years showing no emotion at all each time they met, keeping tabs on John. _Not telling me about Sherlock being alive!_   _I was so worried about Mycroft after his brother’s so-called death... worried that he was alone, without his sibling, without a friend._   _And doing that to John, when he knew at that time that they were soulmates!_   _If John hasn’t realized, I don’t know if Mycroft would have said something to him... Or simply let him believe that his brother was dead._  He understands why, he knows that when an agent is going undercover the fewer people involved, the safer the agent going to be. But it was hard...  _That conversation is not over! But we’re good for now, I won't let his misguidance blow this thing up!_ “Ok, I am keeping my hands and lips firmly on my cup. What’s going on with John? Don’t think Sherlock needs the drama at the moment...”

Shaking his head in exasperation, Mycroft turns to look at Gregory. “Sherlock is now fully awake, and he’s being, let's say...” He swallows with difficulty, “challenging.”  _Understatement of the century._

“It’s Sherlock... of course he’s going to be bored to death to be in a hospital!” Greg's laugh quickly turns to a scowl as Mycroft’s face remained serious. “I don’t understand... The last real news I add was that he was in surgery for his hand and leg but otherwise he was going to be ok.” Slowly putting down his cup on a nearby table, he speaks firmly.“Mycroft, what are you not telling me? I want to know everything. Everything that has happened in the last days and why John is furious.”

Not taking his own advice, Holmes nestles his lanky frame near Gregory, nuzzling in his neck. The sweet scent of his aftershave bringing peace to his tormented mind. Being extra careful to not hurt his love, he closes his eyes to think about the events since his brother miraculous return and begins to speak.

 

> _Three days ago..._
> 
> Mycroft wasn’t able to stop a wave of contentment as his brother's return to London. Even Anthea was breathing more easily, happy that it was over!  _Finally, over._  The restless nights, the constant stress, Moran’s threats... As soon as the ambulance stopped at the hospital and that Sherlock was officially stabilized, Mycroft called his parents while they conducted test after test before going into surgery. Eager to see their youngest son but clearly unhappy that Mycroft didn’t talk about that rescue mission, they rushed to be at the hospital. The teary eyes of his mother and the hug of his father as well as his murmured  _You’ve done well, son..._  brought warmth into his dishevelled heart.  _But for how long, soon they are going to know what I've done..._
> 
> Staying at the back of the room while the doctor explains to his parent an edited and 'Mycroft approved' version of Sherlock’s injuries and what they need to operate on, the older Holmes' thoughts fly back to Gregory.  _Now that this over, what will become of us?_ The DI was sincerely looking enthralled, he wasn’t a good liar, so Holmes knew it wasn’t fake, but what now?  _The protective sentiment that Gregory projects onto me constantly_ , afraid that Mycroft collapse out of exhaustion and stress,  _won’t last for long now that this is over._  The thought that the relationship that was burgeoning between them could vanish and turn into indifference or hate was insufferable. Looking at his mother who was crying silently in her husband's arms half from relief half from horror at what Sherlock been through, Mycroft shivers at the thought that the comfort he felt having Gregory around may not last for long.  _Even if it’s only what I deserve.. Oh God, they must never know about Gregory! Not as long as I don’t know what’s going to happen! I must talk to him._ “Mummy, I’m going to check that everything is readied for the surgery. Anthea is going to take you to my office, you’ll be able to wait in more comfort than in this room.” With a small kiss on his mother’s cheek, he left the room to seek out his soulmate. 
> 
> After a good discussion with an angsty Gregory, he was still angry that Sherlock has been harmed and about the AGRA leader duplicity, where he repeated many times how he loved him and how he was happy for their family that Sherlock was back and that now was their time. Escaping with difficulty from a cuddle prone DI, he left the room more confused than when he entered.  _Is it possible that Gregory’s feeling are real and not only the result of this extreme situation?_ The voice of his soulmate keeps repeating in his head.  _You’ve been so brave my love, everything is going to be fine now... Sherlock is going to recover and John’s love and testimony about how hard you worked on his behalf will be the proof that you corrected your fault that your brother needs to forgive you... everything is going to be fine now... I’ll wait to talk with your parents, I understand you don’t want to have the spotlight turned on you right now, but I’m not going anywhere... everything is going to be fine now..._
> 
> Later, sneaking in to check on Sherlock, he took the opportunity of his still sedated state after being in the operating room for hours to hold his good hand in his before his parents and John barge in the room.  _Brother, I am so sorry... Everything is my fault. I knew that Moriarty was crazy about you and I took advantage of it. Turning his infatuation into manic obsession. We should have found a better way to solve this, I should have found some other way. Sending you all alone wasn't... optimal. I should have been braver. And John, Oh God, what I have done to both of you... Please get better so I can make amends. I love you, brother._ With a little kiss on his brother's curls, he left the place to an anxious John. Knowing that the doctor won’t be able to leave his soulmate's bedside until he wakes up.
> 
>  
> 
> _Two days ago..._
> 
> “It’s going fine.” Mycroft says to Anthea who was going over her boss' schedule with him. "... for now."
> 
> Knowing that he was talking about his brother, his assistant smiles. “He’s sleeping and will probably stay lightly sedated for the day. John and your parents are constantly hovering near him, so if you’ve got things to do, Sir, today is the day.” Now that the worst was over, it was time for damage control.
> 
> “You’re right, dear.” Unable to stops a deep sigh of relief from escaping his lips, Mycroft murmurs. “We’ve done it Anthea... Without you... I... I can  not express my gratitude enough... If you need something, anything, please, just let me know.” He pauses, unable to look at his PA and mutters  _thank you_  one last time before getting to work.
> 
> The amount of work was staggering! Conflicts, scandals, life! Nothing stopped while Mycroft was occupied elsewhere. In the last months, at the exception of Sherlock he only had time for the worst situations... leaving the other crises simmering. Now, it was time to attack them, so they worked all day long without stopping. Re-affirming Mycroft’s importance, preparing the road in case of his new situation as soulmate, furthermore to a man, became known to his associates. It wasn’t the time to be seen as a liability. Anthea on the other side of the office, was working on a ‘business plan’ for the day when Sherlock’s _' not dead'_   situation is going to be announced publicly as well as secretly lobbying for a change in the Soulmate Security law that still considered discrimination of soulmates legal in the attribution of function. Mycroft's situation was insidiously in peril, his colleges may decide to push him away, but Gregory was also at risk. Higher ranks, such as the DI, are rarely given to soulmates. Lestrade had to prove that his soulmate was dead in order to rise to his current position. The fact that it wasn’t true anymore may cause him problems, especially if Mycroft is in no position to secretly help him. The hours fly by quickly, with only a short break for a quick lunch and tea.
> 
> “Sir... Mycroft...” Anthea was in front of the politician's desk, trying to get his attention.
> 
> The exhausted man lifts his eyes from his screen, frowning at the interruption. “Yes?”
> 
> “It’s enough for today... go relax with Gregory a bit, then home for a nice night of sleep. I’ve scheduled Simpson for a pick-up for your parents and you at 8PM. Everything is going to be there tomorrow, don’t worry.”
> 
> “Yes... maybe. Maybe I should."  _I am so tired..._  "And you?”
> 
> “Don’t worry, I’ll be sleeping here and let you know if something important occurs in the night.” She was looking longingly at the spacious sofa.
> 
> “I can’t ask you to...” But Holmes' protests was cut short by the smiling young woman.
> 
> “When everything is over, I want a two weeks holiday in an all-inclusive posh resort in Hawaii.”
> 
> Extending his hand with a laugh, Mycroft smiles with gratitude. “Done.”
> 
>  
> 
> _Yesterday..._
> 
> Mycroft was sleeping, dreaming about the glorious body of his perfect soulmate and what he could do with it, when his phone rings.  _Arggggggghhhh_  “Yes?”
> 
> It was Anthea. “Your brother is awake, the doctor is going to do more test to confirm that the surgery – surgeries to be exact – went well.” Unable to hide a stiff yawn, she continues “... and he asked for your parents.”
> 
> _Not today please, don’t tell me that Sherlock first conscious action is going to be to babble everything to our parents!_  “John is with him?”
> 
> “No, Sherlock asked him to stay out of the room while they dressed his wounds, cleaned him...”
> 
> _This is weird..._   “And what did John say?”
> 
> “He’s annoyed, of course, but I think that he finds it ‘cute’ that Sherlock wants to be at his best for the first time when they are going to be able to talk. More romantic, you know.” Anthea's worried tone - she was clearly not buying it! - was echoing Mycroft's uneasiness.
> 
> _My brother, the romantic..._  “I’m going to wake up my parents, we’ll be there shortly.”
> 
> Once at the hospital, Mycroft let Anthea walks with their parents to Sherlock’s room after his PA murmurs in his ears with a little smile that John was now sleeping on  _the_  sofa. His mother, narrowing her eyes on his oldest, asked with concern “You are not coming darling? I’m certain that Sherlock wants to talk to you about... I don’t know... Things?”
> 
> Laughing lightly, the bureaucrat simply waves his hand in dismissal “I’ll talk to him later about the work he's done, you are more important right now...” He thought about convincing his brother to stay silent about his role in his relationship with John, but he finally thought that his brother was old enough to not brag to their parents at the moment.   _He knows that it will only hurt Mommy..._ Opening his office door to find a sleeping John, he shakes his head.  _I must find a way to fit a proper bed here... This is not right. This is so Sherlock to misread the situation. as if John cares about his scruffy look or bandaged body._  He loves him for everything, for good and bad.  _But, if he needs one day to settle his mind about everything that happened... How could we refuse it to him?_
> 
>  
> 
> A few hours later, he was working on a report when a sleepy voice intrudes on his thought process. “Mycroft?”
> 
> “Oh... good afternoon, John.”
> 
> “What time is it?”
> 
> “It’s nearly dinner time... You were exhausted!” He quickly picked up his phone to ask Anthea to get a light lunch for them. "I'm ordering something to eat."
> 
> “But Sherlock! I... must... Can I use your shower for a quick... Oh sod that, I don’t have time!”
> 
> “Don’t worry, my parents were with him all day long. Last news was that after a long discussion where our mother explained how wonderfully happy she was that he found you, that they worried like crazy over the last year, and that now that ‘now that he’s got a nice man’ in his life it’s time to be more prudent and stop risking his life chasing criminals down dark alleys.” John blushes at Mycroft's slightly mocking tone. "And he's now back to sleep... Probably won't wake up before tomorrow morning."
> 
> The idea that Violet talked about him to Sherlock brought warmth to his heart. “And what does she say about Greg and you... If I may ask?” John retorts with a smile, getting his stuff from his bag.
> 
> “Gregory and I decided that it was better to wait a bit... You know for her nerves. She’s already excited enough over you two.” Chuckling, John rushes to the little en-suite for a quick shower.
> 
> After Anthea cajoles the refreshed doctor into eating a sandwich, the man thanked them before running to Sherlock's room where he sits near him all night. Counting every breath, holding his hand, helping the nurse when needed. Sending wave and wave of positive energy, of healing thoughts, of love...

 

 _And now..._ Standing up to refresh the tea, Mycroft groans at the slight distance between them. _We need to be at home in a proper bed, just want to hold him near me. Just having that would be... breath-taking._ Staying away a bit, he uncustomarily sits on his desk after the hot beverage was poured out, needing a bit of a distance to stay focussed. “So... where were we... Yes, this morning. After a good night, a little sedation went a long way, my brother was talking with Mommy when John re-entered the room after he had left the room for a quick breakfast.” Greg, expecting the story to turn quickly for the worst, waits silently for his soulmate to continues. “My mother told me that it was really... not nice. Sherlock refused to acknowledge John's presence, finally asking him to leave the room. And the problem began in earnest."

“Oh my God... what’s the problem with your brother! John loves him, so, so much! He risked his life for him, he went through Hell...” He rises from the sofa slowly and starts pacing in the room. “I don’t understand! And what was John’s response?”

“He said that he was a doctor, he's seen everything, and that he’s not afraid of his injuries, that he wants to help... He downplayed everything at first.” The doctor tried to change his soon-to-be boyfriend's attitude with crazy theories - _he's shy, he does not want to show sentiment in front of his parents, the hospital his driving him crazy and he wants to wait to be at the flat, he does not want to appear diminished in front of me_... 

“Ok, and... what happened?”

"He tried again and again, each time being a rebuke, even if Mummy tried to change my brother's mind."  _But as the hours passed John grew more and more concerned, not understanding how his soulmate could push him away like that when he needs him for a quick recovery... When he knows how much John hurts._

"And you are only telling me this now! I could have helped John or talked some sense into Sherlock!" His eyes narrowed angrily at his soulmate. "A team, remember?"

"I know, sorry... it's just that you are recovering yourself, I didn't... Sorry."  The whole day saw no new developments, except in John's impatience. "As the day advanced, John become impatient... You know it's not recommended to separate soulmates in a time of crisis. Your friend's incomprehension at the situation turned into anger rather than anxiety or fear." 

"What happened? Why the screaming?" Greg asks with a hint of sadness.

“After another attempt to put some sense in Sherlock, my brother rings the nurse and ask her to remove John from his room and to remove his visiting rights." Looking at the floor, Mycroft was profoundly moved by the situation.   _It's my fault, it's certainly my fault, my younger brother doesn't know how to deal with sentiment, with someone that loves him... And it's my fault._  "... and John's attitude turned to hysteria.”

“I can understand...” Greg murmurs to himself. The idea of an injured Mycroft, alone, not wanting him around raises his anxiety level. His soulmate, feeling his distress, slowly puts his hands on his hips to embrace him tenderly. “But it’s impossible... They love each other, they are soulmates, why on Earth, is Sherlock pushing John away...” 

Holding his soulmate's hands, Mycroft presses his forehead on Greg's shoulder and murmurs. “Don’t worry Gregory... I will never push you away. I promise. We’ve been thru enough, I will never do that to you, it’s a promise... More than that, it’s a vow.”

“I know, I know My'.. it’s just... Poor John, how could he...”  

The DI rant was interrupted by Mycroft's phone. It was Anthea. “I don’t know Gregory... but let’s go back now... Sherlock’s doctors want to sedate John because his outbursts and high level of stress is not helping my brother at all.” 

“Shit...” Was the only word that Greg says before leaving the sanctuary that Mycroft's office had become in the last days.

 

“MYCROFT! GREG!” John was pacing in the corridor, meters away from Sherlock’s room. (38.5 meters, not that John counts it). “Could you believe it! They want to sedate ME to help my soulmate! This... this is... unbelievable. They can't do that... they just can't...” Turning on his heel to look at Holmes in his eyes the asks forcibly. “Do something Mycroft! You can order them to let me in.” Falling into a nearby chair, he wasn’t able to stop shaking. “Okay, okay, I promise I'm going to stay put... But don't force me to sleep!" He was pushing his hands on his thighs, constantly wiping the sweat, his distress causing discomfort to the other soulmates around. "I can’t take it anymore! Greg, go talk to him..." He begs "He can’t push me away at a moment like this!” Pointing at his friend, he stutters. “Even you... you are able to be with him, to love him... after everything that he’s done to us.” His eyes were now full of unshed tears. “And... and... me... I have done NOTHING and Sherlock cannot bear to be in the same room as me! I don’t understand... I... Talk to him, Greg, please... please.”

Unable to hug John properly because of his injury, the DI simply sits next to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No, not me. Mycroft. He needs his brother now.” John, taken aback by Greg’s declaration, turns to look at the politician while the detective smiles warmly at his soulmate. _Courage love._

 _What! Now? Am I doing this NOW?_  Mycroft thought, caught like a deer in headlights.  _Bloody Hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know angst again, poor John, poor Sherlock... But Gregory and Mycroft are going for it, for real. (Yeah!) and in the next chapter... Mycroft and Sherlock. 
> 
> Then love, kissing, butterflies and naked men!


	45. You know everything, don’t you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Mycroft, Greg and John talk in the waiting room, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes are taking care of Sherlock. 
> 
> Parents, they always know more than their children think they do...

Sherlock was on his side, turned away from his parents. Unable to cope with the distress in his mother's eyes.  _More evidence that  I am not made for sentiment._   _She can’t understand, she deserves all the love father gives her... All the care, all the soothing presence. When I... I don’t_... A soft voice interrupts his session of self-inflicted shame.

“Sherlock... Is it something we can do?... Do you need help? I... I... don’t understand.” Not knowing what to do - or if something can even be done at this point - she strokes her son's hair slowly, not wanting to hurt his bandaged back. “Is the pain manageable?” She sighs, closing her eyes to hide her tears. “I realize this is a silly question, that you are suffering a great deal and...” The tranquil voice of Mr Holmes continues where his wife left off.

“... that the recovery both physically and psychologically is going to be long.” Sherlock harrumphed when his father mentioned ‘psychological.' “Yes, son. Psychological. I know that you always loathed therapists and you’re right, they never quite worked ...”

“You were too bright for them...” His mother adds with a proud but sad smile, still playing in Sherlock’s curls. “They wanted to shave your head, you know...” She murmurs dreamily. “But I said no! If you want I could ask for some scissors and cut them a bit... Or you can wait for your usual hairdresser, I’m sure that Mycroft can organize something.” At his brother’s name, Sherlock’s mumbles unintelligibly.

“What? Do you need something darling?” Ms Holmes asks, eager to help. To do something!

_ I need peace. Silence. Oblivion. _  “I’m tired Mummy... I think I’m going to sleep a bit more.”

“All right son, we’re leaving. But, please, think about it... You need help...” His father continues, wanting to express his opinion. “You need to talk to someone. And that fellow of yours, he’s a good man. A soldier, a doctor... He  _saw_  things, he  _knows_  things.”

“And you know darling, a soulmate can read deep into your soul if you open your heart, it will help you to heal more quickly.”  She lifts her eyes to read the monitor near the bed. She wasn’t a nurse, but since her younger son emerged from his sleep, his heart is often beating erratically, and his blood pressure is higher than it should be. She knows what it is, John's anxiety and anger at being separated from his soulmate while he was still suffering was leaking into Sherlock’s soul.  _That’s not good..._  With a last kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, the Holmeses left the room quietly.

 

They were exiting the corridor when their eyes fall on the little group in the waiting room. Mycroft was the first to see them. Without saying a word, he quickly walks over to his parents, happy to be able to escape the discussion that had been going on for over an hour!  _Me! Talking to my brother! As if! They are delusional!_  “Mummy, father... Is everything all right? What happened with Sherlock?"

Shaking her head, Ms Holmes explains. “He’s tired so we left him alone a bit... But I honestly think that he just needs time to think a bit. It’s always hard for him when we are fussing, hovering.” The glance she gives her husband speaks more than what her words do. How many times had they dealt with a difficult Sherlock, how many sleepless nights... Eyeing Gregory, her lips turn in a devious smile. “And who’s this gentleman Myc? Is this the dashing detective we've been hearing about?”

Mycroft frowns, not please at the adjective. _Dashing... Come on! I’ve never... Who's been speaking about Gregory that way..._ before he realizes that his mother was smiling in earnest now.  _Oh the conniving sugary devil!_ “I don’t know who has been speaking about DI Lestrade in those terms, but he’s one of the men who worked with John and I to clear Sherlock’s name. John and Sherlock’s friend. That’s all.”

“Yes, yes, Myc’, that’s all, that’s all..." She pets her son arm dismissively. "Come on now, I want to meet that charming man.” Groaning silently at his father's chuckles, the older Holmes places his hand on his mother’s as she took his arm to walk the few meters that were separating them from the two men.  Mycroft stops in front of Gregory and John, now both standing in respect for the older lady.

“Gregory, this is my mother and my father...” after a pause, he continues seriously. “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.” 

Laughing, his mother extends her hand. “Oh no! Mrs. Holmes was my mother-in-law! Just call me Violet, like John does.” Turning to glance at the blond man,  _he almost looked worse than Sherlock,_ she hugs him strongly and murmurs in his ear “How are you holding up, son, don’t worry... everything is going to be okay.”

Calmer now that he’s been able to let out steam to Greg and Mycroft, John smiles reassuringly to the older woman. “I certainly hope, Violet, but you know how he is... What’s going on in his head?” He turns his gaze to the door that lead to his soulmate’s room.  _He’s all alone, alone with his troubled mind, that’s not good... so not good..._ The image of a young Sherlock, doing drugs to stop the turmoil in his head, springs to the forefront of his thoughts.  _And to think that my only hope now is Mycroft Holmes._ Cornering the man, he explains to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. “Mycroft is going to talk to him  _right now_. Who knows, maybe the comfort of a brother is what he needs at the moment.”  _Or at least, someone to scream at that isn’t me!_

“Splendid idea! Go on, Mycroft, before he falls asleep or disappears into his Mind Palace. I’m never able to distinguish the two, even after all these years!” Pushing her son softly, she repeats. “Go, go...”

“But Mummy, if he needs to sleep...” But it was hard to change Violet Holmes’ mind once she's made a decision.

“He has slept enough over the last few days. Now he needs help to see things more clearly. Please, Myc’, go talk to your brother.”

“Father! Say something!”

“Listen to your mother, Mycroft, you know she always know what’s best.” He leans down to place a playful kiss on her cheek. “It’s her secret talent.”

Knowing that it was crazy to resist his parents as well as his soulmate, he turns one last time to check on John then Gregory and walks in direction of Sherlock’s room.

“Good,” Violet says in a severe but satisfied tone .“Now he’s finally going to correct the mess he had made!”

John, not believing what he just heard, stutters. “Mrs. Holmes... Violet... You... You... knew?”

“Of course, we are not idiots!” She exchanges a look quickly with her husband, raising an eyebrow. “Can you believe this, darling, they think we are idiots!”

“Don’t say that, love, it’s just that we are excellent actors.” Lifting his head proudly, Mr. Holmes smiles as he recalls memories from his youth. “I’ve done many supporting roles at school. Brilliantly if I may say so myself! So, playing the fool wasn't hard!”

“I’m certain you were superb, love, and Mycroft was a very good Lady Bracknell in that play when he was fifteen, do you remember?”

“Mycroft... Lady Bracknell... As in Wilde’s play?” Greg was looking at Mrs. Holmes, his jaw dropped in astonishment. “Tell me you have photos?"

“Yes, dear boy, of course, I will make copies for you...”

John, not wanting to let this go, repeats with a little edge to his voice. “All that time you knew that Sherlock had a soulmate...”

“Oh no, no, darling... no, no... But we quickly realised that something wasn’t right after Mycroft told us about you. That it was impossible that it was an error.” She rolls her eyes, looking so much like Sherlock that John’s heart hurt a little. “Have you ever heard of a story like that? False result! It can happen, doctors and nurses are humans after all, but under Mycroft's watch? In a governmental facility? Nope. I wasn’t buying it.” Taking her husband's hand, she walks a little further to sit in a chair. “Your knees are hurting you love, come sit near me.” Lost in her thoughts, she realizes after a few minutes that John and Greg were still waiting. “Oh! Sorry... So it wasn’t hard to extrapolate from that. That my oldest son in a misguided way had decided to protect his younger brother from being hurt...” She quickly raises her hand to stops John’s protest. “I know darling, I know... I didn’t say it was right!”

“And... how could you still? It’s horrible, what he has done. How is it possible for you...”

“We love him, John. He’s our son.” She exchanges a smile with her husband, tightening her grasp on his hand. “And if  _his_  soulmate is able to get over this and forgive, we must be able to do so, don’t you think?”

Greg turns red as a beet.  _We decided a_ _few_ _hours ago to wait before talking to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and bang_!  But he didn't phase out for more than a second or two, years of practice of dealings with the younger Holmes, and replies cheekily to his newly acquired mother-in-law. “You know everything don’t you, Violet? Now I know where Mycroft and Sherlock got the deduction thing.” He smiles softly at Mr. Holmes. “No offence, Mr. Holmes!”

“None taken, son, none taken. I am the logical one...”

“And the quietly romantic one.” Violet was now looking at her husband adoringly. “Wait and see, boys, everything will work out, you'll see.”

Thinking about Mycroft fussing about his food, the quality of his bed-sheets and everything else, Greg nods. “I have no doubt about it, Violet. No doubt at all.” John remains silent, but hope was slowly spreading in his heart. 

Looking at both men with all the motherly love she could summon, Violet was at peace for the first time in years. _This is splendid, what a good match for Mycroft... And John for Sherlock when Sherlock lets him in._  Oh yes, fate did a wonderful job with these two.       

 

Mycroft was standing outside of Sherlock’s bedroom, wanting to get it over with but not daring enough to open the door. Waves of trust and tranquility were constantly battling against the stress produced by his own body.  _Greg... He’s trying to help me... Even as he knows that what I’ve done is unforgivable._ His hesitations were cut short by the raspy voice of his brother. “Come in or get out of the hallway...” The laboured tone was cutting Mycroft heart in pieces...  _It is my fault he’s in hospital._ “I can hear your self-pitying thoughts from here. Either get in here and deliver whatever message you deem necessary or bugger off.”

 _U_ _nto the breach, once more..._  Mycroft opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know... It was supposed to be Mycroft and Sherlock discussion but Ms Holmes talked to me in my dream and... voila!


	46. A conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock finally talk...

Not looking at his brother, Mycroft slowly enters the room, closing the door after him. His mother’s chair was still beside the bed, but he decides to sit on another one, near the end of the bed.

And he waits.

Waits.

Waits.

Waits.

“You are the one who came into my room when I was about to sleep... Speak or go away.” The nervous exhaustion was audible in his brother’s voice, his head turned toward the window.

“Sorry, I...” The government jack of all trades was for once at a loss for words knowing that John wasn't the real problem. So, he went for the obvious. “How are you doing?”

“Really Mycroft? How am I doing?” The disgust wasn’t as convincing as Sherlock was aiming for. _Go away, I don’t want to do this right now... I’m not... I’m not ready..._

“Sorry Sherlock... I know that you do not want to listen to me and that probably John or our parents have already informed you about this, but I need to tell you officially that your friends are safe from Moriarty for good. Your name is legally cleared, we are only waiting for you to be strong enough for an official announcement to the media.” _But some reporters are going to pay..._ "I can confirm that Ms. Hudson is now back at Baker Street with a great tan and a few new twists on the Salsa. Whatever that is...” He smiles, thinking how important the old lady is in his brother’s life.  _In all our lives_   “Everyone who knows about you being alive is really thrilled that you’re back in England. Anthea will probably want to talk to you as soon as you’re willing to, Simpson and Thompson send their regards and wishes for a quick recovery.”

As his brother remains silent, he continues. “Regarding the safety of your friends... I want to ask for your forgiveness for the attack on...” he nearly drops a ‘Gregory’ but was able to stops himself in time “DI Lestrade. I broke a promise that I’d made to you, I am deeply sorry.” The image of the man when he arrived at the hospital was still turning his guts upside down. “I don’t know what is the latest update you've received, but he’s now really in better shape, he walks around the hospital, chatting with the nurses and I’ve been told that last night he played poker with the doctors on the night shift winning three chocolate puddings!” 

 _He’s unable to tone down the love in his voice, so... this is still going on._ The unfairness of the situation was hurting so much.  _How come he, out of everyone, got a happy ending_.  Without being able to stop them tears were pearling in his eyes, thankfully Mycroft wasn’t able to see it from where he was sitting. A small consolation...  _What was he saying? Oh Lestrade..._  “Don’t lose any sleep over this,”  _as if_... “I don’t think you could have done more to protect Lestrade except having him under house arrest. I can testify first hand, Moran was a madman.” Sherlock’s voice nearly broke on his last words, giving an opening that Mycroft was waiting for.

“Thank you, I do not deserve it, but thank you... It means a lot to me." He pauses, wishing once more that he had the soothing presence of his umbrella. He tries to calm his nerves for what was coming, but it was difficult. Last year's ordeals were still weighing heavy on the man's shoulders, the idea that his relationship with Sherlock could remain severed for the rest of their lives was heart-breaking. “I... I am also personally truly happy that you are back home.” As Sherlock remains silent, he continues without pushing it. “Regarding, Moran... As you said he was a madman and a difficult opponent.”  _Slowly Mycroft, slowly..._  “But John Watson was able to stand up to him, just to bring you back home.” Only the direct attention he was paying to his little brother allows Holmes to hear his replies.

“He shouldn’t have...” Sherlock’s murmurs were nearly inaudible. “He should have left me there...”

Moving out of his chair slowly to not spook Sherlock, Mycroft moves closer and sits on the other chair. Looking at his brother’s face, he was immediately alarmed by the tears and the haunted dimness of his eyes.  “Sherlock, brother mine, look at me...” he quickly reaches for the younger man’s hand. Talking softly, but with firmness, he tries to push away all the doubts and fears that are clogging the genius but fragile mind. “Know that you are loved, by many many people who were distressed by your sudden death. You should have seen Anderson...  Please have pity on the man next time you talk to him!  And for the ones who were waiting for you... It was a terrible year. John of course, but our parents, Molly and Gregory – after we informed him that you were still with us after all!.” He pauses, dropping his head to look at their joined hands. “And I... I... I missed you so much. Every day, every night, I thought about you... My little brother, my only friend, so far away from us... In danger. Because. Of. Me.” Mycroft sobs, unable to stops himself. “I am sorry... so sorry about that. You are the one who is in pain, you are the one who hates me – you have good reason – I shouldn’t put any additional burden on you. But know that you are loved, Sherlock, which is the best thing that can happened to any of us.” Collecting his emotions as he pushes away Gregory’s feelings,  _this one is on me... I don’t deserve any help_ , he rises and without thinking put a single kiss on his brother’s curls.

But as he turns to get out of the room, a pull on his hand stopped his leave.

“Myc’” Sherlock voice was strained by tears but perfectly clear. “... stay. Please.”

Keeping his hand on his younger brother’s, he steps back to the chair. “I am not going anywhere, ‘Lock, I’m staying here with you.” 

 

Minutes or hours later, Mycroft lost any idea of time as he kept his hold on his brother's good hand, the miracle of having Sherlock near him still bringing an outburst of joy to the older man.  _He asked me to stay, he didn’t push me away..._ The detective was sleeping peacefully, looking far younger than he really is. But last year brought new lines on his beautiful face... Each battle, each horror, now sketched in his skin forever. And his back...  _We must talk about the possibility of plastic surgery with a specialist. But not now... the most important for now is to bring him back to good general health, therapy for his hand and leg... And John. We must discuss John._ As if he was feeling his brother's thoughts, Sherlock starts to mumble in his sleep, thrashing his head on the pillow. “Shhhhh.... shhhhh.... Brother mine. You’re in London, everything is all right now. You’re in hospital.” Sherlock, at Mycroft's soft voice, opens his eyes wide in panic.

“Mycroft... I can’t breathe.” His vital signs were once more sky rocketing, and from the corner of his eye Holmes saw the nurse arrive at the window, waiting to know if Sherlock would be able to calm by himself.

“Shhhh, stay calm... Nothing is amiss. Everything is over, the only thing left to do now is to get better.” Sherlock fingers were pressing hard into Mycroft's hand but however how painful it was, Mycroft didn’t let go. “Brother... ‘Lock... Stay with me... Breathe... Slowly...” After twenty minutes of gentle interaction, his grip on the politician's hand finally relaxed. “That’s good, you’re doing great... You are so courageous little brother. So brave...”

“No. I am not...” They were the first words Sherlock uttered since he had opened his eyes. “I am neither courageous nor brave...”

Even if he knows that it was futile in his brother’s mindset, Mycroft protests. “Don’t say that, you are the bravest man that I know. Even my agents said that, and you know how they are hard to impress...” Pushing away sweaty strands of hair, Mycroft was speaking lightly with a small smile. “What you’ve done in the last year, what you’ve done before... The lives you saved, the cases you solved, the deaths you avenged as well as giving closure to families and friends... This is not nothing Sherlock, you are a good man.”

Closing his eyes, the broken detective whispers “I wish that I was half as good as you think I am. Maybe before... maybe... but even then, I am not sure. It’s simple arrogance and you know it. The cases are only to push away things... boredom. I don’t do... well... with emotions.”

 _No, no, no, this is my doing._  “You are owning these emotions brother, you have always been better than me with all this. Yes, you suffered, but better suffering than feeling nothing. I am so sorry ‘Lock... I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have tempered your test result... I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault.”

Sherlock opens his eyes once again and locks his gaze on his brother. “It’s okay Myc’. Don’t worry. You were right, All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage... You tried to help me to overcome that and today, I understand, and I am grateful.”

Horrified, Mycroft drops from his chair to kneels beside the bed... Wanting to be as near as possible to his brother’s eyes. “Sherlock, listen to me... No, don’t turns your head, look at me.” Once Sherlock gaze was locked on his once more, he continues. “I was wrong. Did you hear me?  _I was wrong_. Caring is beneficial to every aspect of one’s life. I see it now. I’ve been the worst big brother that an emotional young man as you can have... I am sorry.” Both crying, the men were still holding hands, neither of them wanting to let go. “I want to help you, let me help you little brother...”

“It’s too late for me, Myc’, I can’t go back... But I am happy that everything is working out for you and Lestrade.” He chuckles sadly. “A bit jealous, but happy nonetheless.”

“What do you mean it’s too late? You’ve got John... He’s outside, a few steps away. Loving you, waiting for a sign from you... That man, you can’t doubt his love ‘Lock! He risked his life for you, he suffers knowing what you went through... Don’t doubt him. Doubt me, hate me if you must, but trust John Watson’s love.” As he talks, he felt the walls being pull back around his brother’s heart.  _One by one. God no! Do something! What did I say! What did I say! Oh! No, I won’t allow it!_ “SHERLOCK!” The harsh tone stops Sherlock wool-gathering on the spot. “NO! Stay with me! You loved John Watson way before you realized that he was your soulmate. You love his courage, his willingness to do what’s needed to do, his don’t give a shit attitude about authority.”

 _What._  “You said... shit. Lestrade 's influence, already?”

“Is that all you heard from all of what I said?” Rolling his eyes, Holmes resumes his analysis of what is going on in Sherlock’s mind.  “Listen to me. It’s the same for John... He loves you for who you are, not because he’s your soulmate. You know how many soulmates end unhappily? Nobody talks about it, but it happens, you’ve seen it often enough in cases! But not for you two. You are perfect for each other. He’s a soldier, a man of action... He chose to go to Serbia because it was the thing to do, as you chose to fake your suicide to save his life.  He killed that man that first night – that FIRST NIGHT Sherlock! – because it was the thing to do, as you killed those mobsters to destroy Moriarty... He’ll do anything to protect the crazy man he loves. Exactly as you did and will again in the future if needed.” Taking a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, he delicately removes the tears that were streaming down his brother’s angular cheeks and sighs.  _He’s way too thin... Again..._

“But My’... I’ve done horrible things... He’s a doctor, he can’t be with a cold blood... mur... murderer.” His voice was shaky, as if the overflow of emotion was too big to comprehend, to catalogue, to put in little boxes...  

 

Trying another approach, Mycroft murmurs as if talking to himself instead of his brother “When you think about this, it’s kind of crazy... He’s been a soldier, he killed people to protect his platoon, to protect this country, while also being a doctor. It must have been devastating for him, the two sides of his life so different, healing and killing... No wonder he needed a therapist. I wonder if he’s still seeing her.”

A little voice replies to the unasked questions. “He stopped... when we met. He stopped seeing her.”

“Ohhhh, it’s true. Guess he found what was missing to help understand the chaos in his head.” Mycroft, looking at the monitor, smiles discreetly as the readings were nearly back to normal.

“You mean... me? When he found me? You think that I helped him? Really helped him?” Warmth spreads in Sherlock's core at the thought of John, his presence, the constant in his life in the last years. The beacon that led his way. 

“Yes, ‘Lock, you were... and you will again. Just open up to him, let him help you now so you’ll be able to help him later on if needed. You both need each other.” Knowing that the conversation about his interference wasn’t over, he articulates carefully. “Sherlock, I am honest when I say that I am sorry. I shouldn’t have played with your life, and with John’s, like that. I am lucky enough that Gregory is able to love me anyway... And if you could be crazy enough to do the same, you’d make me the happiest man.”

“Is this an apology or a wedding proposal?” Sherlock teases, already feeling a bit better.

“You know what I mean... Don’t be difficult.” The banter was feeling natural, as if nothing was wrong between.  _Oh God I missed this!_

Turning serious again, the younger Holmes asks shyly. “Do you really think it’s possible, My’?” He pauses, looking for his words. “that we could... be together for real.”

“Of course, you are meant to be together...” He grins. "Ask Mummy about that time when your leg hurt.”

“What?”

He grins, knowing that their mother is  going to be thrilled to tell the story of how young they were when they connected, “You’ll see... you’re in for a treat.”  Looking at his brother with kindness, he asks bluntly, “could you, you think, forgive me for all the wrong I did to you even if I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, I am... I think I understand why... And it’s... we’re good.”

“That easy?”

 

With a chuckle that ended in a cough, Sherlock objects “Last year wasn’t easy... I guarantee it.” Flashes of everything that happened while he was away runs under his eyelids. He murmurs, placing his good hand on his brother's cheek, “I know how feelings can be frightening, how sometimes giving them up looks like the only option available to protect the one we love, to protect ourselves, how easy it is to disassociate our mind and soul from what is happening around us as if it's the only way available to keep our sanity. And for all that, I forgive you.”

“Brother, ‘Lock..., I, I do not deserve you...” It was Mycroft turns to dry tears from his eyes.

With an honest smile, the first in a year, Sherlock dismisses his brother self-admonition with a warm chuckle. “I think it’s worse than that, My’, in the end, I think we deserve each other.”

 

The nurse, who was now back to her station, grins as she hears both men easy laugh. She was still smiling when her phone rings. It was Mycroft. "Could you please ask Doctor Watson to join us?"

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They are so emotionally drained... I couldn't just write a whole chapter of Sherlock just screaming at his brother.
> 
> *
> 
> 23/06: Still working on the next chapter, kind of hard to get the tone right between John and Sherlock.


	47. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock...

As Mycroft gives instructions to the nurse to get John, panic rises in the detective’s blood. “What! Right now? Myc’ no, I’m not ready... Look at me, I am all sweaty and badly in need of a shave...” Sherlock stops suddenly.  _Oh my God, since when do I care about such things?_

“Don’t worry, ‘Lock, I think that John won’t mind your disheveled look.  Knowing him, he will probably focus mainly on the reading of the monitors.” He smiles kindly at his brother, not believing the chance he had...  a second chance.  _I’m going to do everything to insure that they are happy!_ Seeing that the younger man was nervously focusing on his bandaged arm and hand, his immobilized leg,he chides him softly. “Sherlock... don’t overthink it! He loves you, you love him, you’ve got the added bonus of actually being soulmates. Everything is going to be fine, just allow him to be near you, to help you, to love you...” He slowly rises, letting go of the hand he had held for the last few hours. “He needs it as much as you.”

“You’re leaving me?”  Impatient with the pleading tone of his voice, Sherlock tries to calm himself. “Yes, yes, it’s good. I need to do that alone.”  _I am not a child! Can’t believe how suddenly unsure of myself I am. It’s my brother's doing... I must conquer this feeling._  As Mycroft turns to get John who was now pacing back and forth near the door, the younger Holmes stops him one more time with a more assertive voice. “I know that you are judging yourself right now Mycroft, that you are hating yourself for some of your past actions. You are not alone, so am I. But right now, at that moment, I just want to thank you for keeping him safe for me.” His eyes turn dark a moment. “But don’t worry, remember that even if I  _do_  understand, I am nevertheless livid about your interference. Do not underestimate me.” The blackness left as quickly as it appeared to be replaced by a Machiavellian smile. “One day, one way or another, you are going to have to pay for all this, trust me.”

The resolute tone of his brother brought back memories of an easier time even if he was also fearful about what his brother has in store for him! “I wasn’t expecting anything less from you, brother mine.” With a last nod, he leaves the room to make way for John. 

 

The doctor, without eyeing Mycroft for longer than a cursory sign, enters the room silently. Not knowing where to look and almost expecting an outburst like the day before. He quickly fixes his eyes upon the monitors. The idea that any of his actions may cause any setback to Sherlock's recovery was unbearable.  _But everything is as it should be at the moment, just three days after... everything_. Taking comfort in the general improvement of the readings, John allows himself to relax, letting go of some of the weight on his shoulders.  _He’s going to be fine, he’s out of danger._ His hand pauses on his own heart, counting the beats until it finally goes back to its normal pace. He longs to take Sherlock's hand, to check his pulse, to check his own counting against the machine, to confirm that he was there, that he accepts his presence without turmoil...

But he didn’t dare, keeping his eyes on the heart monitor instead. Slowly trying to keep the same beats per minute than his soulmate’s.   _Thump thump, Thump thump, Thump thump..._ He was so lost in his thoughts, completely calm for the first time in months, that he didn’t hear the soft, deep voice of his soulmate.

“John... John... Come here... Please.” After a few seconds, as the doctor was still transfixed, he raises his voice just a bit more. “John, please...”

“Oh... sorry. Do you need something?” A term of endearment nearly escapes his lips, but he stops just in time.  _We are not there yet..._

“Yes, could you please come nearer... It’s hard for me to keep my head upright and I can’t be on my back for too long.” He gestures to the chair near his bed. “Please sit...” Rigid, scared as he hasn’t been in the last year, John carefully walks around the bed to sit. “Thank you, John.” Looking at his soulmate's face, Sherlock was able to read everything. The lack of sleep, the bad coffee, the missed meals... The calm that he was feeling a seconds ago at the improvement of his vital signs and not being pushed out of the room, his worry now that they are going to actually talk.  _I’ve been so horrible... How could he be there for me, still? I don’t understand how all this work._   As they remain silent, a slow but steady wave of anguish starts spreading in Sherlock’s soul, echoing the return of the doctor uneasiness.   _John. It’s John._ The ex-soldier was uncustomarily completely lost, the last days' emotions, as well as the still present fear of rejection, paralyzing him completely.  _No, my doctor, my soldier, it won’t do..._  Extending his hand, he places it on John’s arm softly _. I can’t believe that I’ve done that!_   _That I’ve reduced my courageous man to that._  “... John? Look at me.” Raising his eyes, the blond man fixes his gaze on his soulmate, waiting. “I’m so sorry...” as the doctor frowns, the detective quickly adds, “I’ve been horrible since I woke up, you did not deserve that... not after everything you’ve done for me! For us!” The images of John entering his cell, with a furious expression nearly masking the pain he was in, was his last memory before he passed out.  _The pain that I caused._

“Sherlock, you have nothing to be sorry about... You were in pain, are still in pain in fact... from a traumatizing experience. Not knowing how to deal with... all this.” He chuckles sadly “I...,  _fuck that I’m going to be honest!_ , I’ve loved you so much, ever since that first day... that I keep forgetting that for you all of this is new.” He shakes his head derisively, “We are not even a ‘real’ couple at this moment, our bond developed in such an unusual way... being far away, with all the traumatic experiences... And you are right, it’s true, you have caused me distress over the last forty-eight hours. Worse than knowing you were away, alone and in danger. Having you so near but... unable to...  it was horrible!” The pleading tone in the ex-soldier was something that Sherlock had heard only once before, that day on the roof. “Swear that you will never ever push me away again...” The ragged voice of the tired man broke, the emotions of being near Sherlock overwhelming him finally. He repeats, putting his hand on his soulmate’s. “Never again, swear...”

“I will never... It's a promise.” Looking at John like a starving man, Sherlock was lost for words.  _Is this real, is this our destiny, is it ‘only’ our destiny that is talking?He says he has loved me since that first day, since he understood that I was his soulmate, but is it only that? Is it possible...?_

Knowing the look on his friend’s face, John interrupts Sherlock's train of thought.“I can’t help you understand if you’re asking questions in your head...” Pushing away the curls that were nearly falling into his soulmate's eyes, he revels at the silkiness but wasn’t certain if his attentions were welcome. Now cautious, he whispers, “let me know if you don’t want me to touch you like this. It is a lot to take in and I understand that you need time.”

Turning his head toward John’s hand like a cat and nearly purring at the soft touch, the detective sighs. “I like that when you touch my head. It’s temporarily stopping everything that is going on in my mind... it’s peaceful.” Gone was his shyness about his unkempt hair.  _At least it is clean!_ “Mummy is always doing that also... Oh God, I am not comparing your touch to my mom’s!” _It's more! A thousand time more!_

Chuckling, John murmurs “I know, don’t worry... But you have questions. What’s troubling you? Tell me what is keeping you awake. We can’t solve everything right now, we will have to learn to live as a... couple. If it’s what you want of course! I don’t want to assume anything...” His anxiety was slowly returning at the idea of discussing serious things with Sherlock, but the constant contact with his soulmate was helping him to get through it

“I think I... I think I’d like that. That being a ‘couple’ thing.” A flush spread over his cheeks as he closes his eyes.  _I’m blushing like a Victorian maiden... I’m ridiculous!_ But his thoughts were derailed by a soft kiss. Opening his eyes in surprise, he remains silent watching John’s face which was hovering over him.  _He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me._

The doctor, who was now sitting back in his chair, softly murmurs as if talking to a skittish wild animal. “Okay... not speaking... Maybe I’ve been too quick? Sorry.” A bit louder he continues. “What if we started over again? Everything.” The doctor's smile is warm, full of promise and he extends his hand formally. “Hi, I’m John.”

Instinctively placing his hand in John’s for a quick shake, a flow of energy took the detective by surprise, his irises grow in surprise as his hand remains in place. The only place where it should be. “Is that -  is it what you felt?” He mumbles, again at a loss for words.  _Can’t believe it’s the real first time that we have truly touched since I realized... since I jumped... All that time lost... Does he feel the same?_ “The first time... at Bart’s. Data... I need data. I want to understand, describe it to me. Everything.” Placing his head back on the pillow, he asks once more. “Tell me everything, your side of the story, please, John”

 

And John talks, for hours he told of his joy following their first meeting, and of the despair when he realized that Sherlock wasn’t responding... The way he fell into the role of his flatmate, of his friend. The long discussions he had with his mother. How, in spite of their broken link, he developed true fondness, love, and desire for his crazy friend. Stopping Sherlock when he tries to excuse himself for all that time they missed. “It’s not your fault, love, it’s not your fault...”  With a warm smile, John encloses Sherlock elegant hand in both his hands. “God, you’ve got big hands... the things I’ve imagined, you’ve no idea!” Cheeks redden by what he just said,  _Too quick again Watson!_ John looks at Sherlock from the corner of his eyes. Satisfied, he saw a light colour on his soulmate's pale skin that shows that his suggestion of some sort of intimacy wasn’t repellent to the detective.  _Everything is not lost._ The first part of their separated story was coming to an end, just before the detective jumped, but it was late and Sherlock's eyes were closing by themselves. “Better to wait for tomorrow, we both need the rest.” He knows that the stories behind their last year going to be taxing on both of them.

“Yes, I’m so tired... How is it possible when all I am doing is sleeping?” Closing his eyes, he murmurs drowsily. “Don’t think that you’ll be able to coerce me to sleep as many hours once we are back home...” Smiling as he fusses with the blanket, Johns replies softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it my love... sorry I can’t stop it!... Love.” Half opening his eyes at the endearment,  _Love? I like this I think_ , Sherlock asks shyly “John... do you think you could stay with me... It’s a single but it’s big enough and you are so small.” 

Laughing lightly as he turns around the bed to go on his soulmate's ‘not-as-bad side’, John protests while he joins the detective in the bed after switching off some of the lights. “I may not be as tall as you, but I am not  _that_  small. You, on the other hand, are way too thin. Wait for us to get back home! I’m going to feed you up at least a stone, maybe two.” Sliding carefully against Sherlock, John places a hand on the delicate torso while joining his other hand with his lover’s left. It wasn’t conformable, but they both welcome the closeness. Turning his head instinctively, the detective drops a small kiss on John’s forehead, murmuring “I’ll eat Ms. Hudson's scones and the thing with peas... promise."

The doctor’s heart nearly bursts with happiness at what had to be the most adorable declaration of love he had ever heard. Returning Sherlock's soft kiss with one of his own, he murmurs "Sleep love, I'm here... you are safe now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Just realize that I'm over 100k words. Jeezzz.... If you are a new reader and stay up to that point, just click kudos or say "Hi!" in a comment, I'm curious :-) **
> 
> p.s.The rest of their conversation will follow in chapter 48...


	48. Reunion... part 2

They quickly fall asleep, the hardships of the last months better than any sleeping pills... Finding peace in the warmth of the other, in the sensations and scents that were defining them. Over the antiseptic hospital odours and the harsh cleaning products, Sherlock still smells like Sherlock, and John smells like John. Shifting automatically closer to his soulmate, while unconsciously avoiding his injuries, John was finally where he wanted to be since he met the man of his dreams more than two years ago. Their souls mingling back and forth, happy to finally be near one each other. Finding a way to wordlessly sing  _I found you finally, don’t ever go away. Let me help you get better. Yes,_ _love_ _, I was waiting for you. Finally, together... Yes, finally._

The on-duty nurse checked on them to give her moody patient his sleeping pills but quickly recognised that it wasn’t necessary.  _They are so nice together, so serene. What a change from yesterday! Poor Doctor Watson... I know that Mr. Holmes was really in bad shape... But it wasn’t right to push Doctor Watson_ _out his room like that! I’m so happy that they are at peace now._  In silence, she checks the monitors and IV line before closing the door, thinking fondly of her own husband a dreamy smile on her lips. Like many of the gifted hospital staff, the anger and anxiety between the patient and his soulmate were distressing to see and feel, many of them having to leave the premises to take comfort in the presence of their own soulmate.  _Everything is going to be fine now for them now, I’m sure of it!_

 

John was having a wonderful dream. _Perfect weather outside, the sun coming up lazily, the windows on Baker Street open... The curtains dancing in a warm wind as the sounds of the city slowly waking up reach him in the kitchen._ S _unday morning. Nothing to do... Perfect. We are at home, a morning like we had dozens of times. Sherlock is in the bathroom, washing his teeth while I’m prepping the breakfast and the tea. Like every morning... Exactly like every morning.._.  _Until It wasn’t. Until it turns into the dream I dreamt for many years... Until it turns breath-taking. Sherlock, my friend, my everything, barely clad in a towel stops behind me to kiss my neck, nuzzling softly but impatiently until I turn and reply with a kiss of my own. Finally, I can hear my soul screaming, finally together! It’s difficult to contain my joy as I’m holding my lover in my arms, dropping the towel while I explore his naked perfection. Only_ _enhanced by the marks on his skin, proof of the sacrifice he made to protect us_ _. It’s perfect... Perfect... Perfect... until it wasn’t anymore. What’s happening? Sherlock is shivering, in pain, pushing me away... No, no... Love..._  As a moan of pain reaches him in his sleep the doctor wakes in panic and sits up in bed, his serenity pushed away by hurt and anxiety.  _What’s going on!_  He turns quickly as his eyes caught a movement next to him. W _hat’s happening!_   Sherlock was fighting against an invisible enemy, at the risk of abruptly tearing away from the medical pieces of equipment he was connected to. Knowing better, John didn’t try to stop his soulmate thrashing by holding him but simply places a hand on his head, stroking his curls, while speaking as gently as possible.  “Love... It’s a bad dream... Come back to me... You’re safe... I am safe... I am here for you... Wake up Sherlock, love...”

Sherlock is trapped in a memory, unable to find any way out. The loop was going on, again and again. His hand was constantly raising a gun at a faceless man.  _Where am I? W_ _ho’s_ _running after me, that alley never ends... Running. Turning. Rising the gun. Killing. Blood. Not me, the other one, not Sherlock, the other, the agent, not me! NOT ME! Running. Turning. Raising the gun. Killing. Blood._ The images in his head were becoming blurry as someone was talking. _Who’s talking! Who’s there! Running. Turning. Rising the gun. Killing. Blood. So much blood. Who’s there! Show your face! Running. Turning. Rising the gun. John! John’s voice. John’s face. But the blood... so much blood. John shouldn’t see the agent, the not-me. Run, I must run away. No! No! NO!_ Screamingin his sleep, unable to shake it off, he was falling further into it.  _No, no, no, I don’t want to do that... Not again, not one more... It’s never going to end! I want to come back, I want the agent to go away. John! JOHN!_   Shouting “JOHN!” his eyes finally open to his soulmate's relief.  _Where am I!_  Instinctively he tries to attack the man at his side.

“Shush.... relax... love... It’s me... It’s John.” Softly stroking the wild mane of black curls. “Darling, breathe for me, breathe... Slowly.” But the man was looking at John like a madman as if he didn’t know him. “Sherlock... you were dreaming. A nightmare. Stay with me now... I’ll keep you safe...” He motions his hand behind him to stop the nurse whose was entering the room with a sedative. “Love... Sherlock...”

 “I’m... I’m... not Sherlock.” The detective's voice broke as he fell back onto the bed, nearly fainting from stress and exhaustion.

Troubled, John carefully wipes out the sweat from his lover’s brow while the nurse reconnects the IV lane that had been ripped out by her patient. While she checks that the heart monitor and catheter were still connected, she murmurs to John. “He’s been like that every time he slept without sedative...” she sighs, “I thought your presence would be enough... I shouldn’t have. So sorry, Doctor Watson.” After a slight nod from John, she finally pushes a small dose of sedative thru the IV line. “He’ll be able to rest  for a few hours...” After the woman left, John – still distressed by Sherlock nightmare – took Sherlock’s hand and didn’t let go for the rest of his sleepless night. Staying awake and on guard as his soulmate rested by his side.

  

Sherlock wakes up on his own as the sun slowly invades the room, the comforting weight of John's arm comfortably anchoring him as he was carefully wrapped around his torso, cautious not to touch any wound. He was back on his side, and the rest on his back injuries was welcome. But his feeling of happiness rapidly dissipated as a flash from his nightmare pops into his head.  _Oh no... Was...Did John realized._.. Slowly he turns his head to look at the man at his side. He saw two navy eyes warily watching him.  _Shit._  Hesitantly, he asks “Have you slept well, John?”

“Yes... up to a point.” The doctor looks at Sherlock with serious eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”  _How am I supposed to escape from that if I am bedridden!_  “I haven’t a clue what you are talking about!”

Too tired and yet, understanding his soulmate's resistance, John didn’t roll his eyes at the blatant lie. “Love... you know. I’m talking about the nightmare...” After a hesitation, he continues. “and the fact that you looked at me and seriously said “I am not Sherlock.” His hand lightly stroked the detective's chest, trying to soothe him enough so Sherlock feels safe enough to tell him, the doctor remains silent. Waiting. 

“I.. I don’t know... what you are talking...” but something in John’s eyes stops him from saying another lie. “It’s too hard. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know it’s difficult, Sherlock, but everything that is worth something is hard...” a small smile appears on the blond man's lips. “I think that I have proven to you many times over that I won’t go anywhere.” Pressing his forehead on the back of Sherlock’s head he murmurs “Let me help you, let me carry a bit of the weight. You don’t have to deal with it alone...”

“Why? Why would you... You were alone when you came back from war. I wasn’t there at first and later, when we lived together, I didn’t know. I didn’t realize our... link. I left you alone to deal with all this, the war and... this. This...” Tears pearl in the detective's eyes as he thought about the missing time. The idea still angering him...  _How is it possible that I didn’t_ _realise_ _! He was there! In front of me! All that time! Mycroft... Oh... It’s all your fault!_

“Maybe, but you helped me by changing my mind. By giving me the adrenaline rush that I craved with the cases but more than that you allowed me to help you, to care for you... That fulfilled the need I have to be useful, to love someone.” Without thinking he placed a small kiss on his soulmate's hair. “Oh God... You’ve got no idea how much the mere _idea_ of you helped me.”

“You were brave enough to go through everything alone...” Sherlock attempts to minimize his role in John’s return to health when they first met, but the ex-soldier interrupts him abruptly.

“You played the violin at night when I had nightmares. Every time.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head to once more touch Sherlock’s, murmuring. “You think I didn’t know... Every time, every night that I had a nightmare you played for me. Even today, when I am afraid or when I can’t sleep... I close my eyes and the sound of your violin is there in my mind. Giving me peace, giving me friendship, giving me love...” His voice was now heavy with emotion, trying to get his message through. “Darling, let me do the same for you, let me help you get better... Let my soul in, let me in.” After few seconds, a small voice that John has trouble to associate with the genius in his harms, murmurs.

“What if... What if I don’t deserve it?”

Softly but with the most convincing tone that he was able to summon, John replies, “love, don’t ever doubt that you deserve all the love I can give, that your parents and friends can give you...” _Damn all_   _these stitches and wires! I can’t hug him properly!_ “One day, when you are ready, I will listen to all of what you have to say... Nothing, you hear me, NOTHING, that you can say can stop me from loving you...”

Shaking his head, Sherlock protests “It’s the soulmate link that’s talking... You can’t... you can’t promise...”

“YES I can! Because I loved you even when the link didn’t work on your side, I loved you for a year, without expecting anything from you... Without knowing that it was possible. I loved you even if it was pointless! I still love you and I will love you for the rest of our lives. Don’t ever doubt it!”

Gingerly placing a hand over John's that still rested on his chest, Sherlock turns his head a bit to look into John's eyes. "I love you too, never doubt it."   _More than my life..._   _And I'll have the rest of our lives to become worthy of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the return at Baker Street! Only few chapters left before the end :-)


	49. Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are finally home... A bit of love and domestic bliss!

John was in the kitchen when his phone rings. Smiling at the name on the screen, he responds quickly as his  _boyfriend_  (OMG!) was sleeping “Hi mum! Yes, been a while... Sorry!  With Sherlock out the hospital, the last days have been... Interesting!” He shakes his head and laughs. “You can say that! But you know... I can’t wait for you to meet him, he’s... marvellous and lovely but  _adorably_  difficult sometimes.” John laughs again, as his mother chides him softly from her end of the line. “Yes, yes, I know... He’s still not fully independent yet, I shouldn’t mock him. Oh.... mum, really, I wish you can be here already! Another ten days, before he'll be strong enough, it's too long!” He switches the phone from one hand to another as he gets things from the fridge. “Sorry for the noise, I’m prepping lunch. Give me a minute!” He quickly places veggies and eggs on the countertop and picks up his phone again. “Okay, done! What were you saying? Oh yes! About the... hum... life as a ‘couple’, boyfriend and all. It’s amazing, it’s the image I dreamt about since I was old enough to dream. Of course, honestly, with a bit more action than I thought possible and... NO! MUM! I don’t talk about that  _kind_  of action... He’s still bedridden most of the day anyway so... MUM! STOP!” He chuckles, trying to keep his voice low. “We haven’t... done...  _everything_... but don’t worry about us we have plenty of...  _fun_. Can’t believe I’m talking about my... sex life to my mother. God, it’s unbelievable!” He was trying to stop his mum's laughter when the conversation was interrupted by Sherlock himself.

“Jooooohn! I. Am. Booooored!”

“Yes mum, that is Sherlock, got to go! Yes, he’s in the bedroom... MUM....! I really do have to go!... I’ll call you to confirm everything about your trip! Bye bye, yeah, love you too. Yes, I will kiss him for you... Oh... Give me a break! BYE MUM!”  _God, she’s worse than a teenager!_ Putting his phone down, John walks up to check on his impatient patient. Stopping at the door of  _their_  bedroom, he cockily leans against the door frame, his hands lazily in the pockets of his jeans. With a sexy grin, he asks as seriously as he can “What can I do for you...  _Mister_  Holmes?”

A mischievous glimmer appears in the detective's eyes. “You can do a great deal... Doctor Watson,” his annoyed tone now replaced by a suggestive one. “to relieve my... boredom.”

“I can call Greg, maybe he’s got more cold cases for you?” As his lover shakes his head, he makes one step towards the bed and continues with a pensive demeanour, “No? Maybe I can get you the last issue of BMJ, you are wayyyyy behind in your reading...” At Sherlock's silence, he walks further into the room, nearly touching the bed. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need a sponge bath?”

“You already bathed me this morning... but I won’t say no to another light cleaning... _After_.” Pushing the comforter away he reveals his naked torso to John, pushing his shyness away but turning a bit pink under John’s scrutiny.  _This is weird, how could he want me... With the casts on my hand and leg, the bandages, the scars..._  But the proof of John’s desire was obvious, even for Sherlock.  _The dilated eyes, the flush on the cheeks, the change in his breathing... His jeans becoming tighter. Is it possible? All this for me!_  

Responding to the doubt in his soulmate's eyes, the doctor mutters, “Oh my God... I can’t imagine a moment in our life when I wouldn’t find you utterly sexy. You’re out of the hospital for only nine days and you look like you are filming a skin movie in our bedroom.” It’s true that the decent nights of sleep and the regular meals have done wonder for Sherlock, who – except his wounds – was looking healthier than even before everything he had been through. “The sexy patient and the horny doctor...” He giggles lewdly. “You’re incredible...” 

Chuckling timidly at the compliment, the tall man replies with what he hopes is a suggestive look. “That means that you are my co-star then! Come here Doctor Sexy!”  Happy that his soulmate was well enough to be playful, their cuddling sessions until then, even if satisfactory, were more of the aftermath of strenuous discussion or nightmares, John climbs into the bed and straddles Sherlock's thighs.  Advancing languorously, centimetre by centimetre, he didn’t stop until their manhoods touch. Falling back in his role, even if it was hard – pun intended – he places his hands near his lover’s head. 

“You need a shave maybe, Sir?” Holding himself with one hand only, he slowly caresses the light stubble on Sherlock's chin “No... it’s okay like that, you look like a bad boy, really nice. Maybe you want to brush your teeth again? Is this what you... need?” 

Holding in a groan with difficulty, Sherlock was only able to protest with a “Johnnnnn... You know what I want!” 

With a devious grin, his lover simply puts his lips upon the bedridden man for a deep kiss.  _I've thought about this for so long, I will never get over the fact that I can do it whenever I want now..._ With only a really light pressure, Sherlock's lips open up for his lover. Trading kiss for kiss without hesitation until their lips are not enough and John's inquisitive tongue conquers his lover's mouth completely, licking, probing, tasting everything that was his soulmate. Sherlock's  moans suddenly brought John back from the euphoria of the moment.  _Oh yes, the game._

“Okay... Your breath is already minty and perfect... So, no need for brushing.” Shakily returning to his original place, he cautiously presses against Sherlock, carefully avoiding additional weight on the cast, and starts grinding softly. Chuckling cheekily when his lover tries to raise his hips from the bed for a better friction. “Oh... This is what you need then.”

“John... Jea... Jeans... Now... Off...!"

Stopping altogether, the doctor looks at his soulmate with affection “You know, it’s really the best compliment when you can’t speak... Can’t believe I’m able to do that to my genius of a soulmate and that...”

“JOHHHHHNNNNNNNN! NOW!”

   

Two hours later, lunch clearly forgotten in the kitchen, Sherlock was relaxing with his head on John's chest  Hugging the shorter man as strongly as possible with his injuries.   _We are so good_ _together, this is a miracle..._ Shifting slowly, it was still painful as some injuries finally needed plastic surgery that was done only two weeks earlier, he turns on his side to mould his body to his soulmate's even further.  _My soulmate, my strong lover, my other half, my better half..._ Tears often prickled in his eyes when he thought about how attentive John was. Silently holding him when he was unable to talk after a nightmare but eager to listen to anything he wants to say about his time away, about the darkness of his years as a young adult. The doctor's infinite patience for Sherlock inexperience of all that ‘real life couple stuff’, his time with Victor being totally incomparable to his relationship with John! _Like comparing a house cat and a tiger!_ Every little gesture, every kind word, every love declaration were slowly sweeping away years of doubt. The bonding of their souls was gently mending the rips and black spots, each man getting better as days passed. More grounded, more confident in the other. No longer believing that caring wasn’t an advantage, Sherlock knew now that love can make someone stronger than he ever thought was possible! His umpteenth sigh of contentment finally wakes John from his light slumber.

“Hummm.... ‘Lock, I was dreaming.” Turning his head in his lover’s chocolate curls  - finally disciplined by a home-visit from Sherlock’s posh barber – he kisses him lightly and murmurs “Hello, love”

“Hello again, honey...” not wanting John’s to leave his side, he keeps playing with the light hair on his chest, his mind cataloguing more and more new information about the doctor.  _His nipples are lighter than mine_ _but just_ _as sensitive... The skin of his scar is two t_ _ones darker than the rest... The hair on his torso isn’t as grey than his hair, is it_ _because of the sun...? An_ _d what about the coarse hair in the groin area_ _? I must ask John for samples..._

“No,” John laughs, sending waves of warmth everywhere inside Sherlock’s body as the laughter echoes in his heart, “I don’t know what you are thinking about, but you can’t put my whole body under your microscope.” As his soulmate looks at him with surprise, he chuckles quietly. “I’m not a magician or a detective _extraordinaire_ , but I do know that look, love! The look you have when you found something to study!” Getting carefully out of the bed, he quickly puts his pants back on.  _Thank God, I quickly showered earlier..._ “Got to go to the loo then I will make a quick lunch. I am starving, and you, Mr Holmes, are going to eat, hungry or not."

Rising to sit up in the bed, the detective places the pillows behind his back. He was mostly independent in his bed now, but it was still difficult to walk with crutches because of the cast on his arm. He tried with only a walking stick, but it wasn’t optimal. “Maybe... yes... I am a bit peckish. After all of our... exercise."

From the kitchen where he was prepping a quick omelette, John replies with a definite tone. "And you’re going to need energy because after lunch we are doing a bit of  _real_  exercise, you can’t allow your good leg and arm to get weak.  And I want to watch a movie, so out of the bed after lunch,  love!” Before Sherlock had any possibility to argue against John’s plan, the doctor's phone pinged.  _Greg!_  

> Myc’ is working late tonight, fancy a pint or two? GL
> 
> I can come to Baker Street if you don’t want to leave Sherlock under Ms. H. supervision. GL
> 
> Yes, it’s better I think. And a visit will do Sherlock some good. JW
> 
> I can bring some cases if you want. GL
> 
> Great! But not tonight, because we won’t be able to just talk like normal people if he knows you’ve got cases with you lol But later this week it’s going to be perfect if you can wait a bit. JW
> 
> No problem, it’s only strange robberies and a few cold cases. GL
> 
> Can I bring something? Snacks, beer, wine? A good bottle from Myc’s collection? GL
> 
> I won’t say no to a great whisky ;-) JW
> 
> Okay, see you later then. GL
> 
> And John, let the man sleep this afternoon. I want him to be awake tonight, not tired from all your... attention ;-) ;-) ;-) GL
> 
> GREG! Come on, not you too! JW
> 
> Who else is seeing the obvious? GL
> 
> My mum, Sherlock's mum, Ms. Hudson, Molly the other day... We are not always horny teenagers! JW
> 
> Just wait for Sherlock to be up and running everywhere ;-) GL
> 
> (SIGH!) See you tonight Greg. JW
> 
> Yep. Bye mate, GL

Closing his phone, John walks back to the bedroom, where Sherlock was still protesting the idea of physical therapy without a lot of conviction.

“Love?”

Stopping his muttering, Sherlock raises his eyes at his soulmate worried voice. “... What?”

“Tonight. We are doing that tonight, Sherlock.”

 


	50. Adrestia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month later, John and Sherlock are doing well... 
> 
> And a snapshot of Mycroft and Greg's life in the last weeks.

After she turns the last page of an off-record copy of a law project about a drastic change of the rights of the soulmates citizens, Anthea was satisfied with the hard work they put into it.  _No discrimination against soulmates, formal or informal, is going to be tolerated any longer. They won’t be able to push away Mycroft and Greg so easily._ She turns to check on her boss who was at his desk, typing something with an annoyed and nearly disgusted look as he frequently glances at the CCTV. Guessing what it was about, she chuckles mockingly,“do you have news about your brother and Dr Watson, Sir?”

“I'm not going to dignify that with an answer, dear.” He haughtily rolls his eyes. “They are... nauseating, I can’t believe that it is possible to be so absurdly besotted... all the time!” He points to one of the screens. John and Sherlock were walking together from Regent Park.

Smiling, she looks at the monitor. “Your brother is finally out of the flat, how wonderful, Sir, and look how well he is doing with the crutches!” They were really cute, John walking slowly beside his lover, animated, but in good spirits, clearly over the nearly constant exhaustion of the last months. Sherlock looks as good and as beautiful as usual except for the fact that he was in trendy black jogging pants - stretchable enough to be put over the cast - and he was wearing a hoodie to camouflage his easily recognizable curls. It was quite endearing in fact, the way they spoke together, touching every time it was possible. Stopping often as to be able to look into the other one's eyes as something is said. It wasn’t possible to know what they were talking about, the CCTV camera wasn’t  _that_ good, but at the moment it appeared John was encouraging his soulmate not to give up. Sherlock was clearly complaining, thinking everything was stupid but also appeared to be blissfully happy to be outside and able to kiss and touch his lover whenever he wanted. “Doctor Watson waited long enough to be able to express his love... they have every right to enjoy what they have, Sir.” It was a rare rebuke of her superior, but they were alone in the office. “They are so cute and going out is good for Sherlock.”

“It’s the first real ‘recreational’ walk since his back to Baker Street, only 1.65 km. It’s a tribute to Dr Watson’s patience that he was able to restrain Sherlock for nearly a month!  But with the removal of the cast on his hand, it’s easier to deal with his leg.” He smiles, but something wrong remained in his eyes. “So a little walk it is... from the flat to Regent Park a bit around the pond then back home.”  _Still, a long time before he’s fit enough to catch a killer..._ He theatrically shivers as the couple stops for a kiss.  _And they stopped for an ice-cream cone like teenagers on a date in the middle of the walk!_  “Ewwwww... Didn’t think that my brother would be one so taken with public displays of affection!”  _He wasn’t like that with Trevor_. He closes the feed and turns back to his computer to get back to work, but his PA was still there. Looking at him.

“You know, sometimes, I feel like a bit of a third wheel when we pick-up DI Lestrade in the car. This is why I started to sit with Simpson, in the front.” Anthea laughs as the government man's cheeks turn pink. “Don’t worry, I am really happy for you!” Not a gifted herself, she was a bit envious sometimes at the feeling of bliss coming from both couples.  _But it’s such hard work in a way, finding the one... And having someone in your mind, always. No, I don’t think I’d like that!_ “Really happy for you, I swear!” As her boss remains silent, she scrutinizes his face carefully.  _Something is wrong, it’s more than his false exasperation towards John and Sherlock over their public displays..._ Carefully, she asks cautiously,“Everything all right? For you and DI Lestrade?”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry. Nothing wrong, just a bit tired.” Without thinking he puts his tea-cup to his mouth.  _Ughh... Cold_. “Anthea, dear...”

“Yes, Sir.” She took the cup quickly and left for the little kitchen that was located near the office to make a fresh pot of tea.

Mycroft closes his eyes as once as the door closes.  _What’s wrong with me... What’s wrong with Gregory? He's hiding something from me._ In fact, now that he thinks seriously about it, in the last week he hardly saw his soulmate.  _He’s working on a big case, that’s what he said... But I know that he’s got nothing special on his desk currently. What’s going on?_ He places his hand on the monitor that shows the DI's office, almost stroking the screen. It wasn’t in the office - Mycroft has a little decency left after all – but on a nearby light post that gives a perfect view of the inside of the detective inspector’s office. Currently, Greg was working at his computer.  _What’s wrong love, what’s going on... Why are you never home when I am! I need to work,_  he decides that it was enough.  _Tonight_ _, we’re going to talk._ He was going to close the feed when Donovan enters the DI office. _That viper! I don’t know how he’s able to work with that bitch! I’m going to be thrilled the day Gregory allows me to have that woman fires!_ Gregory quickly picked up his coat and phone. A text pops up on his phone.  _Oh... We’ll talk at another time, it seems I’m alone_ _tonight_ _._  He quickly writes a response, thinking about the last weeks with a warm smile but still concern about the distance Gregory has put between them in the last days.

Picking up a file on his desk, he sighs as Anthea brings fresh tea. "And now, my dear," He shakes the heavy file in direction of his PA, "what about Miss Moran. The last bit of land at the end of Scotland or somewhere in Australia?"

 

 

_5 weeks ago..._

“Hello Gregory, how are you this morning?” Mycroft walks quickly to his soulmate and kisses him lightly on his lips. “Hope you slept well?”

“I would sleep better if you stayed with me at night...” Greg teases, though Mycroft can hear the sadness in it.  _John is sleeping with Sherlock even though his injuries are worse than mine. I am mostly recovered! It's not fair!_

Quickly spotting the cause of his soulmate's forlorn look, the younger man explains softly. “You know how it is Gregory... Being here is like being at work. Everybody is looking at me, checking if I need something, that everything is all right. It’s not the place for displaying our affection.” He pauses, taking the hand of the man who had become his life.“I love you so much Gregory, don’t ever doubt it. And... talking about not displaying our affection too graphically around the hospital staff, I have something to suggest.” 

Curious, Greg sits at the edge of the bed and pulls Mycroft into the V of his opened legs. “What is it? Am I going to love this... suggestion?” 

_I surely hope so..._  "But first I want you to know that I love you... so so much. I may not be able to find words - I'm not a poet -  but the other day I found a song that was... just perfect. It's in French but I will translate it for you if you want." Greg smiles, still waiting for his lover's suggestion. “Oh yes... My suggestion. It's just that... you know... I am not sleeping anymore in my office now that Sherlock’s situation his better...”  _Stop stuttering for God grace!_    _Get a grip, Holmes!_  “And... now anyway, he’s got Doctor Watson, so I am not that needed around to deal with the medical staff and all his constant drama... So... I was...”

With a loving smile, Greg simply says, “yes.”

“Uhhhh... What?”

“Yes. I would love to stay with you at your place. Permanently.” He chuckles happily. “Or more exactly, at that posh mansion of yours.”

“It’s not a mansion! It’s only a Kensington house and...” but his protestations were quickly ended by a kiss until he was calm enough to start speaking again. “Sorry... I was panicking a bit. Yes, that is what I want to ask. I’ll do it properly now.” He inhales and exhales slowly to compose himself.  _Is it possible that a simple question was harder than dealing with an international crisis? It’s not a wedding proposal!_  At the thought of one day asking Gregory to marry him, his knees buckle, and he detangled himself to sit on the bed. O _h my God... No, stay focused! Talk like a bloody adult. He already said yes, anyway!_ “Sorry... sorry. Okay. So, Gregory my love. Would you like us to live together? Starting now. Not  _now-now_ , but as soon as possible.” He was rambling again. “I’m suggesting my place because it’s bigger and... an easier commute to work for both of us. But I can move, if you want.” His mind rushes away at the thought of the amount of work involved in moving from the Kensington house.  _I must talk to the chief of security, how quickly they can relocate elsewhere, and... The house will need a few adjustments before going on the market. Or maybe I can sell ‘as is’ to MI5 or MI6..._ A deep chuckle of laughter brought him back to reality. “Oh no, sorry again Gregory...”

“It’s okay My’, from the little I've  seen of it, your house is perfect.”  _A bit cold maybe, but we will work on it. Really hope that the personal spaces are a bit warmer._  “And I would love to live with you...”

 

  

_4 weeks ago_

“Are you sure you are in shape for...” They were in the middle of a satisfying snogging session on Mycroft’s (No, their!) sofa when Mycroft interrupted everything for that inopportune question!

“I am perfectly able to do anything that I want...” He didn’t stop kissing Mycroft, t _he mood will not be killed by you, Sir!_  “The surgeon gave me the ‘go’ to go back to work...” he was languorously kissing on the other man’s neck “if I am able to run to catch a killer, I am certainly able to deal with all the wonderful, damn sexy, heart shaking and  _vigorous_  attention you want to give me... or that I want to give you...” Each word was punctuated by another kiss as Greg was slowly removing his soulmate from his clothes. Each kiss bringing bursts of sparkles under their skins. 

_Thank God our parents went back to their house for a few days_... was the last coherent thought that went through Mycroft's brain before his objections suddenly disappeared. 

In the morning, Greg wakes up alone as Mycroft's first meeting was very early. A message was waiting for him near the already readied espresso machine.

> _Love, I spoke to you the other day about that song that expressed_   _my feeling so wonderfully. I was looking at you while you slept last night, and I wrote down the lyrics for you in English. These are borrowed words, but they are true nonetheless._
> 
>  
> 
> _The main thing is to be loved, everything else doesn't really matter._
> 
> _The only truth is to be able to count on someone what ever may happen._
> 
> _It's entering his heart and throw away the key._
> 
> _It's getting back as much as we would like to give._
> 
> _Never need to question whether we belong, or needing any reassurance._
> 
> _It's how we melt when we feel the other's happiness, deserving his trust and becoming better._
> 
> _The main thing is to be loved, above anything else you could possibly think of._
> 
> _Fame and fortune don't matter at all as they blow away with the wind._
> 
> _I think it's the little things we make and feel that really count._
> 
> _Such as being expected somewhere and running all the way there._
> 
> _Or_   _when someone says our name in such a way that it sounds like an endearment._
> 
> _What's important are the day-to-day experiences._
> 
> _It's how our hearts leap when a love one rushes to greet us._
> 
> _When we have arms around us, how could we ask for any more?_
> 
> _Whatever happens, love is the only truth that we can rely on._
> 
> _The only truth is to be able to count on someone whatever may happen._
> 
> _Being exiled to a foreign land but having in our heart someone to keep us company._
> 
> _This is to feel a sentiment so strong that it could survive beyond death._
> 
> _It's to be loved again, forever and always._   _My love . . ._
> 
>  

> _Quite romantic I know, and quite a reverse from my usual drivel about love. But know that each word rings real in my head, in my heart, in my soul._
> 
> _I love you, welcome in my house. With you it's finally a home, which is more that I ever deserved._
> 
> _Yours, totally and for ever._
> 
> _Mycroft._
> 
>   _p.s. If you ever showed this to someone I will deport you to Siberia. And as I would have to go with you I would hate that greatly. x_
> 
> _p.p.s. The cleaning lady is coming this afternoon, could you please check that the living room and bedroom are rated G? Many thanks, love._

With tears in his eyes but laughter in his heart, Greg kisses the letter reverently before getting ready for the day (and obviously checking over the bedroom and living).

 

_3 weeks ago_

“Everything is going great, I won’t elaborate more on our love  life!” Mycroft was sitting in the breakfast nook in front of his inquisitive mother. He never likes to talk about his personal life with his parents, now even less than before. He still did not feel able to be his old self with his parents anyway, especially his mother, more precisely since they confronted him about his bad decisions and the way he (and I quote) ‘f _ucked-up John, Greg and his brother’s life and nearly got Sherlock killed. Twice._ ’.  

Otherwise, except that expected parental anger, everything was settling beautifully; Sherlock was now back at Baker Street; Greg’s presence was soothing but exhilarating at the same time. They suited each other perfectly.  _But it’s not her business!_  “Mummy, don’t even try. You’ve got enough sappy romantic updates every day from my brother, you don’t need mine.” His lover left early as a body was found in the middle of the night in the theatre district.  _I know that the productions are sometimes abysmal, but it’s not a reason to kill an actor! Not when I need protection against Mummy! Isn't that what soulmates are there for?_ And now he was alone, trying to stop his mother questions _. I just want a coffee before I’m leaving to work, it is too much to ask?_ “Where’s father?”  _Any chance of someone available to help me?_   

“Still sleeping, poor man...” She chuckles as a glint appears in her eyes. “Last night was... let's say... eventful! And we are not that young anymore so...”

“Mummy!” Putting down his cup he flew out of the kitchen as quickly as possible followed by a cackle of laughter. He was happy that after a few weeks of cold shoulder their relationship was slowly returning to its usual rhythm but enough is enough! 

 

 

_2 weeks ago_   

>  I’m working late, sorry love. MH
> 
> Don’t worry My’, I’ll do something with John. We will probably start a Holmes’ Brothers-in-law support group or something like that ;-) GL
> 
> Oh God, don’t drink too much... I know that John is going to discuss my brother ad nauseum. MH
> 
> But, wait! ‘Brothers-in-law’ with an ‘s’. Are you saying that you are also in need of a support group! MH
> 
> lol don’t worry darling, I’ve got only cute things to say about you. GL
> 
> I certainly hope so! MH
> 
> ... What things? MH
> 
> Finally, it’s all set-up, I’m going to Baker Street after work. This way Sherlock won’t be alone. GL
> 
> Gregory darling, what things? MH
> 
> Bye love, got to go back to work. GL
> 
> Gregory! MH
> 
> Gregory Lestrade, WHAT THINGS! MH
> 
> Love you x GL
> 
> I don’t know why, but I love you too. MH
> 
> But go easy on me please, don’t tell my brother all my secrets. MH
> 
> Please... love…? MH
> 
> I won’t, don’t worry. See you later darling. GL
> 
> And Gregory, l love you too. MH
> 
> X MH

   

_A week ago_

Mycroft was in his car when he realizes something was horribly wrong. For the first time in months, he felt... alone. He turns away from his PA to look outside, trying to figure out what’s happening, what change. _I was so happy yesterday, last night was... perfect. Gregory was loving and caring as usual... I don’t understand!_  As his phone rings, he pushes it into Anthea's hand, but it was the Prime Minister about a crisis somewhere.  _Always a crisis somewhere! It’s not a country, it’s a bloody kindergarten!_ But the silly crisis, somewhere at the North Pole where Canada and Russia were fighting for a ridiculous little island, was complicated enough to occupy him seriously for days; he pushed the nagging doubts from his mind.  _We’ll talk later when I get back._

  

_Back to the present time:_

A few kilometres away, fully aware of Mycroft’s eyes on him, Greg was typing up info about a cold case recently closed by Sherlock.  _Our stats are going to be over the roof!_  He laughs happily thinking at Sherlock's overjoyed face every time he brought files before his smile drops. _Mycroft is really not doing well right now, his anxiety level is rising. I can feel it! I must talk to John and Sherlock about that._ He pushes the sentiment away.  _I have work to do now!_ As he opens a new files, Dnovan rushes in his office with a message that someone gave to her, for his eyes only.

On a single sheet of torn paper, only one word:  _Adrestria._ Rising from his desk, he puts his coat before sending a message to his soulmate. 

> Another case. Don’t wait for me tonight, go to bed I’ll join you as soon as I can. Love you. GL
> 
> Be careful, love you. MH
> 
> Always. GL

A serious and torn expression on his face, Greg rushes outside his office to get to his car, Mycroft's letter carefully fold in his wallet like a talisman.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is wonderful. Written by Charles Aznavour and interpreted by Mme Reno. 
> 
> If you are curious, the music is quite cheezy for 2018, but her voice is beautiful: [ youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9wbinhqC_8)
> 
> And if you are really really curious, the night Mme Reno upstaged Celine Dion lol: [ youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0slOZv19g-k&list=RDK9wbinhqC_8&index=2)
> 
> *
> 
> A little bit longer than usual before the next chapter, sorry!   
> Morgane  
> 2018/07/16


	51. No one will ever hurt you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is ready for Greg's visit. 
> 
> John and Sherlock are in the mood for sharing...

John was waiting for the news to sink in… As Sherlock remains silent, he repeats, “we are doing that  _tonight_ , love. Greg is coming home after work.”

“I understood you the first time John, it’s just that I didn’t know what to say.” He pauses, gazing at his boyfriend – they had finally come to a consensus on the name of their current status a few days ago - attentively. “Do you think... it’s the right thing to do?”

“Don’t know if it’s the  _best_ thing to do... Or even if it’s necessarily a  _good_  thing to do. But one thing I’m certain, it’s the  _right_  thing to do! It cannot stand, love, he must understand. Waiting longer would be cruel and I don’t think you want that. Even if it was just up to me...” Pushing away his personal feelings, it was Sherlock’s decision not his, the doctor waits without saying anything more.  

“Okay then... If we wait too much longer I won’t be able to go through with it. Anyway... we must talk to Greg before anything. Get his point of view...I’m eating at the kitchen table;” he pushes away the comforter, knowing that it was going to please John, "would you help me? I will do the damn exercises after... While you do whatever you deem necessary for tonight's little  _soirée_.”

Holding his soulmate's left forearm solidly and with a hand at his back, John helps Sherlock to get up before giving him a single crutch. The epitome of patience, even if his charge wasn’t!

“I can't wait for the cast on my hand to be removed... just one more week,” Sherlock grumbles. “And it should be strong enough for me to finally use both crutches on my own!” His leg injuries were taking longer than first estimated, as they had discovered many small stress fractures in his tibia, as well as the comminuted fracture of his fibula.  _I want to make love to John properly! And vise-versa! God, gave me patience!_   “And if I can have a slimmer cast on the leg in few weeks... God! I’m already tired of all this!”

“I know love...” They were walking laboriously to the kitchen after a stop for the bathroom. “Sit, I will bring you your plate and a nice cup of tea.”

“Thank you, John...” Looking at his soulmate with attention, the detective was satisfied that a slight smile appears on his lover's lips when he thanks him.  _Better than the look of astonishment I received the first weeks! Was I so horrible? Taking John’s help with daily things for granted?_ He waits for John to be seated in front of him, before clearing his throat. “Was I that horrible? Before, I mean...”

The doctor puts down his mug slowly, frowning. “No! Why do you say that?”

“It’s because you are always so surprised every time I say ‘thank you’ or when I do something without complaining... As if you are not expecting that from me.” The look of hurt on Sherlock’s face was unbearable to his soulmate.  

“No, no, love... You always have been curiously polite with me in comparison to other people.” He smiles, putting his hand over his love’s one. “It’s just... it's silly... but I’m amazed how happy and satisfied I am to do little things for you now that you know that it’s not because I am your personal slave but it’s because I love you...”

“And this is different of being my personal slave how exactly?” Sherlock teases, mirth in his eyes.

Quickly leaning over the table to kiss his lover, John chides playfully. “Oh stop it would you! And eat your food before it’s cold!”

“Yes, _honey_.”

   

Sherlock was relaxing, on John's expressed order to take a nap to be in shape for Greg’s visit, his mind wandering upon the events of the last month, of the last few years.  _How is it possible that a life can change as quickly and so completely... just like that? From being alone to having a flatmate, a partner, a friend, a good friend, a soulmate... A boyfriend. From idolizing my older brother, to barely tolerating him, to hating him with all my heart... And now? What’s going to happen? I know he realizes the errors from his past, that he fights constantly to be better... That the acceptance of his love for Lestrade changed him to his core. Papa told me how roughly he’s been talked down by them. But is it enough? Enough to be certain that he truly understands the errors of his way? Enough to be sure that that kind of interference won’t be tolerated again? Enough for him to realize what Lestrade, John and I have gone through because of his actions?_

He was still lost in his thoughts when the feeling of John sitting near him on the bed wakes him from his reverie. “You’re not sleeping, don’t even try love.”

Opening his eyes slowly, he protests, faking confusion. “Ohhhh John, I was dreaming... why did you wake me? Is Lestrade here?”

“He’s nearly your brother-in-law you can call him Greg you know!” He sighs, satisfied with the quick clean-up he’s done in the living and kitchen. “Everything’s ready... We’ve got two hours before the end of his shift.”

“Hummm... Do you have any idea of what we can do in the meanwhile?” Sherlock half-joking, half-seductively.  

“Yes, in fact, I do.” Reaching under the bed, he pulls out a collection of notebooks.

Now fully attentive, the detective murmurs reverently. “Is this... what I think it is?”

“Yes, it is.” He smiles, stroking the oldest one. “It’s the first one... Do you want me to...”

“Yes!... Please...” Sherlock's tone was excited but held the tiniest edge of fear.

“Don’t be afraid, love... nothing in this can hurt you. Nothing. Do you want me to start from the first one... or a few years later?” John was waiting, his eyes on Sherlock.

“From the start, love... I want to know everything...” Adjusting carefully until his leg was propped up against a pillow, he places his head on John’s lap and waits for him to start reading aloud...

“I started to write when I left Sarah, you remember her?”

“Yes, the lying bitch who faked being your soulmate for years.”

“Nicely put, thanks love... So... Okay. This is weird. Okay, I’m starting...  _1995, March 13... I should have listened to Mum and written down everything from the start. Maybe this way I would have realized sooner that Sarah wasn’t who she said she was. But I know that one day I’m going to find you.”_

“You’ve always been an incurable romantic, John.” Sherlock chuckles.

John closes the little book with a sharp clap. “Sherlock...”

“Okay, okay, I’m staying quiet. Go on, love.”

And John read, page after page of little things. The hope he had, the desire of becoming a good doctor, his quest for more. More from life, from love... Until he gets to January 1996. “I think it’s enough for today, don’t you think, darling? Greg is going to be here soon, I promised him some finger food, so I must start the oven for the little  _amuse-bouches_  I purchased at M&S.” He laughs, trying to push Sherlock’s interest away from his notes. “And living with Mycroft, I’m sure that he won’t be happy with only chips and salsa!” His boyfriend’s hand stops him from leaving the bed.  

“John... Don’t go. Tell me. I need to know.” Sherlock was waiting for the best moment to talk about Victor, to start a discussion about drugs and everything. He knows January 1996 is the first step.  _I don’t want to hide anything from him._ He realizes suddenly _._ “I don’t want to hide anything from you, I want you to know everything about me, everything that made me the man I am today; the good and the bad.”

Sitting back on the bed, John watches his beloved eyes carefully. “Are you sure? Maybe right now is not the time... We can talk later...”

“No, it is more important now than ever. It’s the first moment, the first day where we lost everything for so long...”  

“Okay... What happened to you on that day?” Holding the notebook close to his heart, he waits.  _Maybe I will be able to help him understand his feelings._ _   _

“When we left the government office?” John nods. “I was... devastated. I tried to be cynical about it, of course, not wanting to show anything to Mycroft. But, in my mind, I was so alone.” His head was back on John’s thighs and the doctor wasn’t able to see the tears that were slowly flooding his eyes. “I was... I am still... a difficult man. For me, the only way someone... someone could be in love with me was... if... if... fate was forcing him. You know? So... without a soulmate, it meant that I was alone. And that no one, no one in his right mind, would ever love me...”  

“But, Sherlock, Victor... He wasn’t a gifted. He loved you, surely!” John was trying to stay calm, allowing his boyfriend to speak in his own time, soothing him by playing in his hair. He knew a bit about Victor,  _that_ _they had been together for nearly four years for goodness sake_ , but he didn't know why they had broken up.  

“Yes, he loved me I think... I was so fucked up in my head, I wasn’t really nice at the end.”  _I was so convinced that it wasn’t possible for him to love me... What a mess._ “He had been more than patient with me, even if in my mind the case was closed, love wasn’t for me.”  _Until that day..._  “We finally broke in 1999. It didn’t go well, I lost the few human interactions I had because everyone sided with Victor. I lost it, completely. Not wanting to think, doing more and more papers, more research... This is the time when I started doing... drugs.”  _This is hard, so hard... Please don’t hate me._

Responding to the feeling of doom that was rising in his soulmate, John murmurs “I will never hate you, my love, never... You are so so courageous. You’ve been subjected to ordeals worse than anyone can imagine... for most of your life. This is ending here and now.” He takes Sherlock into his arms and holding him tightly, he repeats fiercely, “this is ending here and now. No one will ever make you suffer, again, no one. No. One.” Now both silently crying, the men didn't talk until John corrects his soulmate, stroking his curls. “You know, it's time to rewrite those memories love... you were not alone. Never. I’ve got the proof here.” He points the black notebooks. “Here is the proof that you were never alone... I was with you when Victor left you, I was with you when you were desperate, I was with you when you... when you OD'd.” He shivers at the memory. “We are going to talk about this later, I promise, but I just want to tell you that in the hospital... when you shut down..." John's voice broke as he remembers the hurtful feeling, "the silence... the silence that fell over me was terrible." Absentminded, he recalls dreamily "It was the worst thing about the time when you were away. I knew it was the suppressant, but that constant silence was horrible." Shaking his thoughts, he chuckles, trying to bring Sherlock back from their lost time. "Even before, when you didn’t know about us, I felt little explosions of your feelings from time to time. When you were too tired, or sick or wounded or a little bit drunk probably.” He laughs lightly, thinking about these moments. “It was like, you know, a little nudge from your soul. A little, ‘Don’t worry John, I’m still here... Wait for me, one day Sherlock is going to understand.' But now, that is in the past, and feeling you always with me is glorious and bright and wonderful.”

They stay like that a bit more, reluctant to get out of the peaceful safety of their nest of blankets and limbs. But John’s phone pings with a message from Greg. “He’s on his way. Do you want to dress or are you staying in your pyjamas?”

 

The discussion was going well, they eat the little fancy stuff John bought for the occasion, drank beer or wine reasonably because Greg and in particular Sherlock were still on pain medication, and talk about little things. Joking around how John’s got the cuter Holmes while Greg got the smart one. (At which Sherlock protests loudly!), the detective tried (of course) to pick up bits about his brother’s habits, trading in exchange a few saucy stories from Mycroft’s childhood. 

Once the drinks are refilled, Sherlock and John exchange looks, nodding lightly at each other.

“What?” Greg asks curious, “What is it?”

“Greg...” John starts, holding Sherlock’s hand in his. “We must talk to you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope they won't be to hard on Mycroft!!


	52. The one who cannot be escaped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later, after he receives another Adrestia message from Sally, Greg is on his way to meet Sherlock on one of their weekly secret meetings.

After their first discussion and few weekly secret meetings, Greg was still freaking out about the plan. He understands that Mycroft needs to fully comprehend the damage he had caused, but the scheme was harsher than anything he could have come up with. He had been hoping for an intense discussion, an intervention of a sort where Sherlock, John, their parents and he could confront Mycroft once and for all, but it wasn’t enough for John and Sherlock.  _Of course, a plot from the minds of a previously self-diagnosed high-functioning-sociopath and an ex-soldier could only lead to something extreme. I don’t understand how Mr and Mrs Holmes could be a part of this idea! She looks so gentle…_  but he was in the house when they spoke to Mycroft and he knows better now; the old lady, as well as her generally silent husband, are a force to be reckoned with.

Jumping into his car, leaving once more a curious Donovan on the curb, he remembered the discussion he had with the men about their plan for Mycroft.  

> “We must do something, and for it to be effective you must be with us!” Sherlock explains as soon as Greg agreed to listen.
> 
> “Don’t do too much... you can’t avenge years of misguided caring just like that!” The DI didn't like where the discussion was heading
> 
>  “You said it, years... and you can’t accept Mycroft's actions as only ‘misguided love’ from an attentive brother!” John was getting furious again.  _How could Greg, an intelligent and kind man, minimize his soulmate's action!_ “You know first-hand the cost of his manipulation had on our lives,” his eyes watching Greg carefully, he adds, “... and on your own life!”
> 
> “Don’t go there again John, that’s between Mycroft and me!” The policeman was now rising from the sofa, glaring angrily at his friend and ready to leave Baker Street.
> 
> “You’re right, we can speak for ourselves...” Sherlock tries to defuse the situation while sending a silent warning to John. “Sit down, please... Let me explain what we would like to do.”
> 
> The older man retreats back in the sofa, looking at John severely. “Okay... talk. But don’t ever speak about our relationship. That is  _our_  business.” After a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself enough down enough to think rationally, he asked quietly, “what’s your plan?”
> 
> A hand on John's knee, Sherlock pauses a bit before explaining “I’ve been able to get a few weeks' supply of suppressant...”
> 
> “NO!” Lestrade was looking between the couple, incredulously. “What do you want to do with it? I won’t give Mycroft the pills without him knowing, no way!”
> 
> “The pills are not for Mycroft...” The detective rolls his eyes but was serious, the consequence of his words weighing heavily on him before he quickly shakes himself. “Be serious, why would we want to give the suppressants to my brother. He already did to himself for years... as you well know. They are for you, of course.”
> 
> “WHAT?” Greg was once more taken aback by the hatred both men still have for Mycroft. The policeman voice was shaking, the conversation clearly upsetting him. “But this is cruel! How could you...” He was going to get up again to leave when Sherlock shakes his head derisively as he reads the policeman emotion as if it was written on his face.
> 
> “God, be sensible, Lestrade. It’s not that we _hate_ him... to the contrary, we are trying to avoid getting to the point where we do hate him.” Looking at Greg with confidence, he attempts to reassure him. “He won’t stop loving or trusting you, don’t worry. He’s expecting some kind of punishment, he won’t be able to be who he wants to be, the person he can be, until he gets past this, gets some closure.” Pouring another round of wine, he pushes a little bottle of suppressants toward Greg before arguing a bit more. “You know, it’s exactly what he made you feel for  _years_... As the link is already there  _you_ are going to feel everything as you do presently, but  _he_  won’t be able to feel yours. Everything is going to be turned down, as if you don't... exist and for you nothing going to changed.”
> 
> Putting his hand in Sherlock’s, John asks quietly, “is this how it was for you last year? When you took the pills...”
> 
> Closing his eyes, the detective remains silent few seconds, thinking about his time away. “No, not really... our link wasn’t fully formed, we never had the chance to, so only extreme emotions were able to get through usually... And I voluntarily dissociated myself from... from all this. Because it was so hard to be far away, so hard to imagine that you could... one day... get the imprint of all the things I had to do.” The work he had done against Moriarty associates was still a bit blurry for Greg, but he knew that it wasn’t easy, that Sherlock had to probably kill criminals, even as it was in self-defense.
> 
> “John,” Lestrade asks somberly, “what were the feelings on your side? What’s going to happen to Mycroft if I decide to go along with your crazy plan?”
> 
> “It's going to be worse than what you had to deal with when Mycroft was doing suppressants because of the lack of connection.” The doctor closes his eyelids, tears pearling at the corners of his eyes. “It’s not the feeling that you miss something, but don’t know why – this is the way you described the situation you remember? - It’s more like something was cut from your heart, from your soul. It’s horrible.”
> 
> “And yet you want to do that to Mycroft...” Greg gazed into Sherlock eyes, not wanting John’s protectiveness towards his soulmate to bias his analysis. “You want to do that to your brother...”
> 
> “Yes.” Sherlock replies sadly, but Greg recognizes the look in his eyes, and he knew he would do what was needed. 

His car was swiftly going thru the rush hour traffic, all lights on. Rushing to get to the meeting with Sherlock for the unknown next phase of the men's vengeance.   _Project A_ _drestia... the Goddess of revenge and retribution. The one who cannot be escaped... How fitting! Of course, the posh bastard named the project something that a normal human like me has to look up in Wikipedia! ‘Let’s creep the Hell out of Mycroft’ was probably too straightforward. I shouldn’t have gone along with this... Oh my God, this is crazy! And I’ve got the feeling it’s about to become crazier!_ Thinking how selfishly Sherlock and John were risking his own happiness for the sake of their vendetta, the detective once again rebels against the idea.

Greg often burst out angrily at Mycroft sometimes when flashes of what they could have been for nearly two decades was too strong to just let go, so he understands the will they have. But even if he understands the validity of John and Sherlock's arguments, the DI had trouble dealing with the change in his relationship with his soulmate since he started to take the damn pills. The look on Mycroft's face as days passed, as he stops feeling Greg’s emotions, was heartbreaking.  _And the question..._ The caring _Are you all right love? Is anything special going on at work? Are you sleeping enough?_  The panicking  _Do you have doubts about us? So you still hate me? Do you love me? Do you want my love?_ And the worst, the pleading  _Do you want to leave me? Please tell me what I’ve done wrong? Please don’t go!_

And in the last few days, it’s only coldness as Mycroft walling off his heart with his icy demeanour, protecting himself from Greg. _This is so wrong!_ He sighs as he arrives at his destination and parks his car on the curb before heading for a dark alley where Sherlock was supposed to wait for him for a private discussion. He was getting his phone out of his pocket to text the git when someone grabs him from behind before shooting him with a sedative. He nearly has the time to swear  _You bloody bastards, if this is a part of your plan, I’m going to kill you!_   before everything went dark in front of his eyes.

 

When Sherlock enters the alleyway through the back door of a restaurant a few minutes later, Lestrade was nowhere to be seen. As he was calling the DI to check on him, he was now ten minutes late for their meeting, he slowly turns and walks further down the dark end of the alley, now able to walk with a walking stick because of his lightweight new cast, when he finds Lestrade’s phone on the ground surrounded what appears to be the steps of many men.  _A fight and they left with a body!_

Choosing the second number in his phone directory, he announces with horror in his voice as soon as a tired voice responds, “Mycroft... Greg has been kidnapped!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Greg! Can someone gives him a break!
> 
> A bit shorter than the other one, sorry.


	53. A Family Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is afraid...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made a little error in continuity, please note that chapter 52 is a few weeks later chapter 50. So, Sherlock is in better shape and is able to clip-clop with a walking stick and able to help Greg!
> 
>  

> I can’t meet you for lunch, see you tonight. GL 

_Again..._  Mycroft was staring at Greg's last text, a cold hand squeezing his heart.  _I don't understand, everything was going so well... I mustn’t freak out! It’s probably a case, just a case... It’s his job!_ Unable to control himself, he turns to look at the CCTV screen as Gregory rushes to his car, leaving his second –  _that dreadful woman!_  – on the curb. Donovan was looking as exasperated as Mycroft at her boss's frequent disappearances! Pulling away from the small monitor as soon as his soulmate’s car was out of the camera range, Mycroft sighs loudly, happy that for once, Anthea wasn’t in his office. He texts her to cancel the romantic lunch in the park that he had planned for them.  _Everything feels so wrong..._  The memory of Gregory’s kisses and caresses wasn’t able to push away his anxiety. Nothing was able to calm him! Even work, the one thing that had been his sanctuary for so long, was doing nothing to keep his mind off their problems.  _I don’t understand..._ _Everything was going so well!_

The wonderful bliss of the first months was plummeting to nothing...  _The last weeks have been horrible, the link with his only love disappearing as if someone had cut the mystical ribbon between them_. Rolling his eyes over his romantic vision of love, he frowns, trying to find an element in his behaviour that could be the source of such a change in his partner, but he can sense nothing.  _Nothing!_  Even the policeman's attitude towards him was changing, he was more secretive, less inclined to show affection.  _Is it fate then? Is it a mystical way of punishing me because of what I have done? Maybe I do not deserve happiness?_  As the idea of punishment sprung in his mind, he swears heavily, the cloud of self-depreciation disappearing from his eyes.  _Sherlock! This could only be Sherlock and John!_ The cold threat his brother made when he was at the hospital was still fresh in his analytical mind.   _Suppressants!_   _God, I've been stupid! Blinded by self-hatred! But... if Gregory has been given pills, is he in league with them? Or has my scheming brother found a way to administer them without his knowledge?_

He was thinking about how to break the news to his brother and his brother-in-law that their machinations were ending NOW when his phone rings, it was Sherlock.  _Good. I’ve got something to say!_  But his hope for a swift return to a happy life with Gregory collapsed instantly.  _Greg has been kidnapped!_ The words were destroying everything that wasn't Gregory from his thoughts! Leaving everything behind, he rushed to his car to get to the place where his love was seen the last time.

 

Greg regains consciousness with the biggest headache he remembers in a long time.  _God, what the Hell did they gave me?_  Opening his eyes slowly, it was enough to see that he was in an abandoned industrial plant.  _How original, I’m so fed up with abandoned factories! It seemed as if he was trapped in a bloody gangster movie._ A little smile appears on his lips at the thought of the many times when he encountered Mycroft in such a place. But now wasn’t the time for sweet reminiscences!  Listening carefully for any sounds, he hears nothing suspicious.  _Only a few pigeons, cars outside..._   His eyes wide open now, he turns his head carefully, trying to find something to help him or to at least give a clue about where he was. He was alone, in the middle of a large empty room. Nothing of importance, nothing that can really help him get out of the metal chair he was attached to.  _Sherlock would find a way... Just try to think like him, Greg._ _You’re not an idiot as he said!_ The idea that the consultant detective was behind it and that it was a part of his plan to torture Mycroft was rapidly pushed away.  _He’s mad, but not THAT mad!_  He groans silently, trying to flex his arm muscles to loosen the knot that ties his hands.   _Shit! It's not working! And my feet are also bound so I won’t be able to kick if someone is coming!_ The chair was made of metal, so the idea of rocking it until it fell to the ground was useless. He was starting to panic a bit, his head still pounding like crazy, when a man approaches him, using calm, easy steps. Greg decided to remain silent, holding his head high. Waiting.

 

The car stops in front of the alley, barely ten minutes after Sherlock’s call. The detective was busy contacting his sources and never saw the fury of his brother who storms at him, fiercely wanting to punch him, when someone stops his fist. John, who had arrived a bit after Sherlock, was holding his brother-in-law tightly. “Mycroft! Not the right time!”

“I know what you have done over the last weeks… The suppressants!... But THAT… that’s below anything that I could have imagined! Do you hate me that much?” The older Holmes was shaking, trying to analyse the scene. Trying to figure out what happened. “I don’t know how, but if Gregory has been... has... because of your machinations... it will be YOUR fault...” His voice cracked, unable to speak about the man he loves above everything else. “I will destroy you.”

Sherlock was looking at his brother, not speaking a word. His eyes tormented, full of horror at the thought that his own brother could think him capable of doing something like this. The doctor, staying near his boyfriend, murmurs soothingly, “Mycroft, of course, we have nothing to do with Greg’s kidnapping! We aren’t the monsters here!”

“I know, to you, I AM the monster, right?” Taking out his phone, he quickly checks for an update on the situation.  _Ok... A small van reported as stolen has been seen speeding past a shop close by. A shop that conveniently has a back door in this alley._  Calling Anthea, he asks her to send the directions to his chauffeur and runs back to his car.

“Mycroft! STOP!”

Pausing a moment, the government official turns on his heel to glare at his little brother.

“Let me help you, please.” Gently rebuking John who was moving to protect him, he continues, "Greg Lestrade is our friend."

A hairsbreadth away from pushing Sherlock away, a feeling of being so alone, afraid and somewhat useless overwhelms everything and, barely realizing his action, he motions his car towards the detective. “Come, we know the location.” Looking at his walking stick, he sneers one last time “And don’t slow me down!”

 

“Oh well... if it isn't the great DI Lestrade! Or, if I may be more precise, the man who lets Sherlock Holmes get the job done!” Laughing loudly at his own joke, the man who enters the room by an entrance behind Greg quickly puts something over his head. “Don’t want you to be able to identify me, you know, because, hey... maybe you’re going to get out of this alive.” The criminal chuckles again as he checks the knots that were tying the policeman down. “Won’t say I’m not happy to get you all to myself...” Taking advantage of his position, he punches Greg high in the stomach, cutting his breath for a few seconds. A second later, his phone rings, the sound echoing in the large empty room. Muttering, but with a dash of reverence, the man tries to explain his actions to his boss, looking at the nearby camera. “Yes, Sir, I know... Yes, yes... But I’ve recognized him, a history with the Yard you know and... No, no... You’re right. Right. Sorry. Yes. No... no please. I won’t. Yes...” Putting his phone back in his pocket he looks at his captive, hoping that he didn’t do anything too offensive. “You all right mate?”

Choking, looking for air while an acute pain hits his ribs, the DI was now certain that Sherlock wasn’t in charge of the operation.  _Shit shit shit_ “What do you think, moron?”  _Oh, this is not good..._  “What do you want? Who’s your boss? Didn’t seem to be too happy with your handiwork.” The thought that maybe Mycroft was behind this was slowly unraveling in his mind.  _Maybe he realized what’s going on and he’s mad? No, no, that’s crazy!_

“No, not really...” He replies, the natural cockiness of his voice toned down “don’t know why he wants you, but he wants to keep you in one piece... He was a bit unhappy that I knew you in fact.”

Even if I find who that man his, among the hundreds of men I’ve put behind bars, I don't know whose his boss. “And now... what do we do?”

Grabbing a nearby chair, he sits noisily, making the cheap furniture creak under his weight. “Nothing, we wait.”

 

 

In the car, Simpson was following the road with his GPS, trying to get there as quickly as possible. The kidnapper was only ahead if then by fifteen minutes...  _But so many things can go wrong in fifteen minutes!_ Speaking as calmly as possible on the phone with Anthea, Mycroft was raging inside. Thinking about his Gregory alone, in danger, was nerve-racking.  _At least despite the suppressant, the link between us was strong enough that_   _he’s receiving the love and courage I’m sending him even if I can't feel his distress._ His eyes fall on his brother and John.

Sherlock was still working on his phone as John was keeping his lover injured leg on his lap. Unable to control a fit of frustration, the green-eyed monster not far away, he quickly chided himself. Beside his worry for Gregory and his anger against them at the moment, he mustn’t be envious or jealous.  _They’ve come so far, and it was all my fault. I can’t blame them for being as demonstrative. Even if now it’s not the moment!_ But in fact, John’s care at that moment wasn’t amorous, it was simply a doctor taking care of his patient but for Mycroft it's the epitome of what he could lost! 

_My family hates me... What will become of me if I lose Gregory, he’s the only good thing in my life now..._ The idea of going back to working nearly twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week was suddenly insupportable!  _I am all alone..._ A hand on his arm brings him back from the state of despair he was in. It was his brother.

“Mycroft, we’re going to find him. I promise. And... you know that we love you, yes… Don’t ever doubt it!” Now holding his brother’s fingers in his, the detective explains “I know pushing Lestrade until he accepts to take the suppressant wasn’t... good... but it was necessary.” Unknown to the men, the car was turning in a deserted industrial plot. “A reset of all those emotions was needed, a plain field... To be able to build upon solid bases, as equals.”

Shaking with emotions, Mycroft grabs his brother in a strong embrace, crying. After a short moment, with a derisive chuckle, he murmurs in his brother’s ear “You’ve got to admit that life was easier before all this sentiment, brother mine."

“Yes, I must admit it, you're right... but that life wasn’t worth living.” The brothers hold their gazes without blinking as the older man nods. Silently exchanging sadness, forgiveness, mercy, brotherhood, friendship, love... The moment broke when the car came to a full stop.

“Sir, the van we are looking for is only a few meters away, behind that garage door.” Getting out of the car, his gun ready, Simpson opens the door. “What do you want to do? Our team is already in place, ready for anything. Are we going in or should we call the cops?” 

“Call the cops?” Sherlock smirks, looking at his brother for a confirmation. “The only good one is not available right now. No, this is a family affair.” 


	54. This royal throne of kings…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Greg is hard on Sherlock and Mycroft's newly rediscovered brotherly love!

 

“But I don’t understand!” Mycroft was shaking, losing a grip on his emotions, as he realizes he has no control over the situation. The man, who takes pride in always knowing everything, was looking at the empty space completely bewildered. Sherlock, who was walking slowly to examines everything for a clue to Greg's whereabouts, didn’t say anything to calm his brother. He was solely focussed on the case, namely finding Greg. He wasn’t as bewildered as Mycroft at the absence of the man in the old factory...  _The stolen van, the way they lead them to this place..._  

Simpson and John, gun in hand, were patrolling at the edge of the room but found no one. No sign of a hasty exit. Nothing. “Where is he!” The older Holmes mutters under his breath, “someone is playing with us and I don’t like it! At all!”

 _No with us, with you..._   _That's not good._ But for once Sherlock remains silent, his eyes on John’s as they exchange their concerns silently.  

 

Greg was looking around him, wondering for the thousandth time about why he was there. Even if he was trying to remain as calm as possible, he was getting more and more anxious as waves after waves of anguish and fear coming from Mycroft clouded his feelings.  _Too bad Mycroft cannot feel mine at the moment_ , he thinks bitterly _, he’d know that I’m not worrying. At all. Only bored in fact._ Looking again at his captor, he tries to find something to help him identify him later as he was clearly an ex-convict. It was like playing a game when you are a kid. _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos, little shamrock tattoo on the left thumb._ Another look. _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos, little shamrock tattoo on the left thumb, medium-brown short hair._ Another. _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos, little shamrock tattoo on the left thumb, medium-brown short hair, 15 centimetre knife scar on the left forearm._ Another.  _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos..._ But his game was interrupted abruptly.

“What are you looking at, copper?” The man growls, attempting to intimidate him.

“Nothing... nothing...” He returns his gaze to the floor.  _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos, little shamrock tattoo on the left thumb, medium-brown short hair, 15 centimetre knife scar on the left fore-arm, definitely a hint of a Glasgow accent._ “Don’t want to be a bother... but what are we waiting for?”

“Instructions,” the man states, then pulls out his phone and checks for any new texts.

Knowing that he was pushing it, Lestrade asks quietly, “about?”

“About where I should take you next, of course.” As his phone buzzes, he reads a new text quickly before saying in a hard tone.  “None of your business. Shut up.” He raises from his chair, holding a syringe.

“Okay, okay...”  _They are_ _watching and my guard has been scolded by his boss because he was talking too much. Who the Hell is playing the Moriarty creepy copy-cat? One psycho per decade is enough!_ “I will remain silent from now on, sorry...”

“Oh yes, you will.” 

 _Yes, definitely from Glasgow. But why a shamrock tattoo then. People are weird..._ The last thing Greg heard was the sarcastic laugh of the man.

 

Minutes later, the government man was going crazy! “Sherlock! Have you found something? You are just standing there, doing nothing! This is all your fault!”  _God, I am the smart one, but I can’t think right now!_  

The detective's eyes were still glued to his phone “Again? Seriously? I’ve told you that I’ve got nothing to do with this…”

“Maybe not with the kidnapping, but a meeting in a dark alley, really? At the mercy of anyone!” He rolls his eyes in exasperation, happy to have an outlet for his uncustomary fear. “Could you please be less obvious when you are playing hide and seek next time! And now you do nothing!”

Tired, in need of his meds, Sherlock's calm demeanour finally snaps a bit. “The van was obviously a decoy, and you fell for it... Happy for a quick solution, to prove that your little organization was better than me... I knew it was a fake, I felt it was wrong, but I said nothing because you wouldn’t have believed me!” With a vicious smirk, he adds one last barb. “The delay to locate Greg is on your hands, brother.” Mycroft was about to launch a fist towards his brother, his relationship with the policeman has certainly put a spring in his walk, when John interrupts them loudly.

“STOP IT YOU TWO!”  _Fucking unbelievable!_  “Could you please act like grown-ups! Your cute little peace-moment in the car is already over? Think about Greg, not about your egos! And Mycroft, please shut up about how it’s  _our_  fault… If Greg was in this alley it was because he was working voluntarily with us to teach  _YOU_  a lesson that you deserved tenfold… So tit for tat!”

His worries suddenly replaced by ire, Mycroft shouts, “Doctor Watson, I won’t let you talk to...”

“I understand that you are worrying, but for now, JUST SHUT UP MYCROFT!” As Sherlock snickered, the doctor promptly adds, “AND YOU TOO!” Shaking his head, John walks away to talk to Simpson muttering loudly enough to be heard by both Holmes. “Fucking unbelievable, two bloody childish prats, both of them.” Fully in his Captain Watson mode, he turns on his heel one last time to check on his soulmate, who was holding the walking stick with a hand that was turning white because of the pain. “And you, stop being a martyr and go sit in the car while you check your sources as clearly nothing can be found here.”

 

A few minutes later, Sherlock calls to them shooting an address to Simpson. It was on the other side of town, another abandoned factory. Explaining quickly as John and Mycroft jump into the car, Sherlock's eyes remain on his phone. “My contact saw a man manhandle another with grey hair inside the building. The car is still there.”

“He... he was okay?” Mycroft voice was trembling, not understanding how he, who is usually unshakable and cold in face of danger, was crumbling under the emotions and the fear of losing his soulmate.

“He was unconscious.” He pauses, not knowing what to say to comfort his brother after their outburst. _Being enemies is way_ _easier!_ “... he’s probably just sedated, don’t worry My’.”

Calmer now that they have a goal, Mycroft murmurs to his brother “Thanks, ‘Lock... I know you’re going to find him.”

John presses Simpson to go as fast as possible while guiding him on the outskirts of the city and sighs.  _T_ _hese men... God gave me patience!_

 

 _It’s starting to become tiresome... I’m not a bloody parcel!_ Greg was now on a floor. He tries to open his eyes, but he was blindfolded and tied with nylon ropes. Otherwise, except from the pain from the punch, he was unharmed. “Where are we now?” As his voice didn’t create any echoes, he realizes that he was in a smaller room. “Hey man! Talk to me!” The room remains silent.  _I am alone, no car, no noise whatsoever. Where am I?_  His mind still foggy, he starts to repeat to keep his mind occupied.  _Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos, little shamrock tattoo on the left thumb, medium-brown short hair, 15 centimetre knife scar on the left fore-arm, Glasgow accent. Around 180 centimetres, 90 kilos..._

 

As Sherlock’s instinct told him, the suspect's car was still in front of the decrepit industrial building. They swiftly walk to a side door, Mycroft’s snipers already in place in case of movement. A quick survey shows no signs of Greg, except for the fact that it was evident that someone had been there not long ago. Two chairs were still standing in the middle of the room, ropes on the floor. Pointing the floor out to John, Sherlock saw that someone had clearly been dragged from the front of the building then, later, been hauled through the back door. An empty syringe was laying on the floor. Holding their guns, Simpson and John followed by Sherlock and Mycroft, tiptoed to the end of the factory, following the marks on the floor until they reach a door. Opening it slowly, Simpson sighs and pushes the door wide open when he realizes that it was another exit at the back near a truck loading dock. The fresh tire marks from a generic car clearly show that once more, they haven’t been quick enough.

“Who would play a game of cat and mouse like that!” Simpson rages, as he helps his boss to sit on the curb, head in his hands, wishing that Anthea was there! “Courage, Sir. DI Lestrade is a strong man.” 

Turning around for one last look, Sherlock saw the glimpse of a too clean envelope taped on the brick wall. It was of a pearly colour, shining in the sun. “Mycroft...” the detective curses his temporary limp as he walks slowly towards the wall. “Look... an envelope, a message...”

Jumping on his feet, the government man rushes to get to the letter before his brother. Opening it with trembling fingers, he scowls, not liking what he was looking at. Pushing the paper in his brother’s hand he orders “Sherlock... We must go at once.” A quick look at the words was only what he needs to nod and hurries after his older brother as quickly as he was able.

 

In the car, everyone was silent, Mycroft's chauffeur/bodyguard was driving quickly to the next destination, still unknown to the doctor. Until John, unable to restrain himself, raised his head from the paper and asks his soulmate quietly. “Explain, love, I don’t understand. I can’t help if I don’t get it.”

Getting back from the trance he had fallen into, Sherlock places a hand on John’s. “You remember... you remember when I said ‘I love you’ the first time?"

Eyes suddenly full of small tears, the doctor murmurs “Of course... I was so happy I think I nearly died of happiness after. All that kissing, then a love declaration... But what’s the link?”

Smiling sadly, his soulmate shakes his head. “Not at the hospital, the first time. The real first time...”

Remembering the texts exchanged a few weeks after Sherlock 'death', he nods slowly. “You mean... when you were away? With the code.”

“Yes.”

“So...” John looks at the paper with more curiosity, almost respect. It was a good quality paper, without any specific mark. In the middle of the sheet, a phrase written in a flourishing hand. Reading it in his head few times, he was left confused.  _This royal throne of kings... What the Hell is this!_  On the other side, in a more classical font, simply 4 dots, a space and a suite of random letters. “... this is a code?”

“Not a code, John. Our code. The Holmes’ Boys code.” Closing his eyes in anger, Sherlock was boiling inside at such an attack on a personal level.  _The code we invented in our youth, that we never disclosed to anyone, not even our parents. Richard II as the key. Mycroft'_ _s favourite act. And that phrase..._ _That phrase…_   

"And the phrase is…" John asks, trying to figure out where they were going. 

As Sherlock didn't reply, Mycroft sits tall on his seat, his attitude changing from defeated to combative. _If they think they can push me down like that, they are mistaken. This is not who am I. This is not what Gregory needs or wants me to be._ “Four blank letter, a space, then ‘is where the heart is’.  _Home_ , Dr. Watson. The missing 4 letters word is 'home'.  _ **Home**  is where the heart is_.” Looking at his brother on the other side of the car, he repeats "We are going home".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away from my computer for a week... So the next chapter going to be a little bit later than usual! Sorry :-)
> 
> 08/12: Back home where my beloved computer was waiting for me! I'm starting to work on the next chapter right now!


	55. A night to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft are going down memory lane as a worthy opponent force them to confront their family history.

Eyeing Simpson, Sherlock murmurs to his brother, “are you sure?”

“I have infinite trust in this man.” Mycroft replies without a doubt. Frowning, he texts the order sending back to the office the small crew of snipers that had been with them since Greg had gone missing. “Only us... We don’t know what’s going to happen, but the person is clearly toying with us. I don’t think that opening fire on the car as soon as we turn into the property is part of his plan!”

John, shifting his gaze from his soulmate to his brother-in-law, asks, “Sorry to be bothersome, but where are we going? I know it’s not your flat, Mycroft because it’s like Fort Knox! It’s certainly not Baker Street...” He suddenly snaps. “Wait! Is it the cottage? Your parents! We must contact them quickly, they must go to someplace safe!”

“No... It’s... _home,_ ” Sherlock exchanges a quick nod with his brother and continues. “my parents purchased the cottage fifteen years ago... after a fire destroyed our family home.”

Mycroft shrugs and murmurs “The family manor... Musgrave Hall to be exact.”

“Manor!” John looks at the Holmes’ brothers in awes. “I never heard about this... A bloody real manor? With a name and all...” Shaking his head he mutters, “I should have known that such posh-ness didn’t came from the suburbs...”

“You are not helping, brother dear! Please, shut-up would you.” Putting a hand on the doctor’s knee the detective specifies “Love, it was a very small manor...»

Laughing, John slowly runs his hands on his face. “A bloody mansion... Mycroft little chat with the Queen... What are you, royalty or just plain old nobility?”

“No, no...” the detective scoffs. “Nothing like that! Just landowners and country squires. So... A fire, Mycroft was already in London, I was in college; not wanting to rebuild, our parents simply closed the house and moved to the cottage. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Mycroft adds. “You can relax now, John, it’s nearly a two-hour drive.”

Frowning, and not believing for a second that it was the end of the story, John closes his eyes a moment before falling into a light slumber.

 

 

_A night, 15 years ago..._

“Darling! Wake up! The fire alarm!" Shaking his wife roughly, Mr Holmes was trying to switch on the light with his other hand. “VIOLET!”

Finally waking up, the woman gasps. “What! Siger, what are you talking about!”

“FIRE in the East Wing! Quickly, your things we must be ready if...” But the man was interrupted by his wife.

“You don’t think that it’s his fault! He wouldn’t... The poor boy... He’s so constantly sad..." She was crying, the idea heart shattering. Quickly putting on her robe as her usual spunk fights back, she rushes out of the bedroom her soulmate running after her.  _My God, please help us if we are too late!_

  

 

The car jolts as it turns in a little country road, waking John. Turning his head to look curiously through the windows, he smiles as the bright countryside was shining like after a light rain.  _It’s really wonderful, to think that Sherlock spent his childhood in a place like this... I can imagine him running around, playing pirate, doing experiments with insects and rocks_.  He was about to make a comment about how lovely the surroundings were when a brief glance at his boyfriend reminds him of the seriousness of the situation.  _Greg is in danger! How could I have forgotten it!_ Lowering his head in shame, he remains still a few seconds until Sherlock’s hand finds his, sending courage and love.  _Oh God, I love him so much! You know it, right?_ A small squeeze from his love was the only thing he needs to know that he was feeling the same.

As the car stopped in front of a massive gate, Sherlock and Mycroft sigh in unison, the weight of going back to Musgrave Hall falling heavily on both men. Simpson, after he scrutinized the old and beautiful metalwork, interrupts everyone's thoughts. “The gate is unlocked Sir, do you want me to take the car inside the property or do you want me to park here?”

“Inside is probably better... At least the car is bulletproof. It may be useful, even if I really think all this is not about killing any of us.” Sherlock suggests. His brother nods and asks his bodyguard to carefully open the gate and drive to the front porch.

After what felt like a kilometre-long alley, the black sedan arrives in front of a stately double door.  Getting out of the car slowly, the four men silently walk to the door. It was still closed with a solid chain, as it has been for the last fifteen years. John's eyes were hovering all over the façade, still amazed by the idea that the old manor was the childhood home of his soulmate. Taking in the great windows, the detailed stonework, the pure grandeur of the building. But, to his dismay, a whole wing was barricaded, the bricks blackened by the blaze. Testimony of the fire destructive force.  _This is so sad... To think that Sherlock lost his childhood memories, the idea that he could have been there at the time! Oh God!_  His soulmate, placing a hand of the small of his back, brought him back to the present. They were waiting for him. “Come, John, don’t think about it... I am not sad about the house, it’s only bricks, woods and mortar. This is not important.  _You_ are important for me now.  _You_  are my home.”

Leading the way, Simpson starts walking around the house until he finds a back entrance, near the herbs garden, that was wide open. “They are clearly waiting for us...”

Before entering the abandoned manor, John murmurs to his soulmate, “is there anything else you want to tell me now?” His eyes were solemn but full of love. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I have nothing to say, John, I don’t know why we are here...” Sherlock replies honestly as he looks to his brother warily. _What's going on?_

 

 

_Back to that night..._

Stopping a second to pick up the phone, Siger puts the handset down with an unusual use of swear words. “The line is down...”

“Do you think he did this! How could he risk our lives... How could he hate us like that!”

“Later, love, later... Now go wake up Gisel and run to the village for help, I’m going to his room to try to get him out of it if it’s possible.” After a last desperate kiss, he starts running in direction of the series of bedrooms in the wing opposite of their own quarter as his wife rushes down the stairs to wake up their housekeeper.

The smoke was already filling the corridor, making it hard to go on. Stepping quickly into the bathroom adjoining the boy’s room, Mr Holmes rapidly wrapped himself in wet towels, keeping one in hand to be able to breathe without inhaling too much smoke. _How is it possible, the despair... poor boy, poor Violet!_ Walking as quickly as possible down the corridor, Siger starts screaming, hoping to get a response, anything. “Are you there? It’s me, come on, don’t be afraid, it’s okay... We aren’t mad at you, we understand, we love you... Will always!” But knowing within himself that it was too late. That the death of a young girl a few months ago was the first nail in the coffin and that what was happening at the moment was a disaster that was waiting to happen.

As he tries without success to go further, the desolated rooms remain silent. The only noise the crackling of the old wood, as if his family home was calling for help.  _All this because of the bond... This curse!_ Feeling ashamed instantly, he thinks about his dear Violet and the hard times that were to come.  _Poor love, I’ll be there for you._ Unable to continue his search, the man turns away to get out of the house as the sound of fire trucks resonate in the moonless night.

 

 

Sherlock enters the mudroom as a wave of memories flows over him. The crisp country mornings that he spent running outside after sneaking in the pantry for cookies and chocolate. The ant farm he had in his bedroom. Playing with Mycroft and Redbeard in the attic. The fight with his brother over almost everything after his brother left for school, the breach between them nearly impossible to repair. Becoming a nightmare for his parents when adolescence kicked in, a mix between sulking in silence and screaming at the top of his lungs while banging doors.  _I was horrible... Mummy is an angel!_  The stern but loving gaze of Gisel every time he barged inside the house with his rain boots covered in mud.  _Where is she now? She was already ancient back then... I must ask Mummy._ He was still rummaging through his childhood memories when John curled around him, holding him gently from behind.

“Everything all right, love?” He murmurs in his ear, not wanting to warn any criminal that may be inside the manor.

“Yes, it’s just... I didn’t realize that I never came back here, even at the end of school that year. My parents drove us directly to the cottage, and we never talked about Musgrave.” Finding it odd, he glares at Mycroft before asking “Have you ever had the chance to go inside the house since the fire? Isn’t it strange that we never talk about it, fifteen years, Myc'.

Turning around to follow Simpson inside the house, the older man didn’t reply.  _The secret is not mine to share._ “Let’s go, we must look for Gregory. He’s inside the house, I’m sure of it!”

 

 

_That night, an hour or so later..._

Holding Violet close, Gisel was with her family now, Siger looks at the ruin of what had been his home since his birth. The hardship of the last months pulling him down, unable to be his cheerful usual self. Being unable to help his soulmate during this horrible ordeal was literally breaking his heart, shredding his soul.  _It is just a building, it’s not important. Get a grip! Violet is important right now..._  Pushing away his distress as the keepsakes of a lifetime was either burned or soaked by the firemen's hoses, he kisses his wife gently on the top of her dishevelled hair. “Love, we don’t know... Maybe he wasn’t there. It’s probably an electrical problem or something... It was an... an old house after all.” His voice broke, knowing perfectly that it was a white lie, the pungent smell of oil still permeating his clothes. It wasn’t an accident. Wrapping himself tightly around his best friend, partner of twenty years, he closes his eyes a moment, trying to control the tears that would soon be falling. They brace themselves as they heard the noise of a few cars, the sound of closing doors passing through the background noise of the fire brigade's shouts and pressurized water from the hoses. "They are here."

A man, in a dark suit, silently motioned them to get away from the crowd. “Sir, Mrs Holmes, I’m Agent Richmond. Sorry to burst on you on a night like this.” He clasps his hands in front of him, in a respectful stance. “First of all, I want to say that we are all sorry for your loss, Mrs Holmes, and that...”

Violet, almost violently pushes the man away from them. “HOW DARE YOU!” She was shaking, her hatred for what the man represented clearly showing in her furious eyes. “It’s your fault... ALL THIS is your fault!” Her husband, unable to calm her, was standing near ready to intervene if needed. “That poor girl died because you were unable to protect her, my husband lost his family home.. A manor that’s been in his family for generations... that we were keeping for our sons...” Unable to stand anymore, she falls on the ground, Siger powerless to stop her. “And I... I... it's your fault if I lost him!" Crying earnestly, her husband protecting her with his arms while sending comforting thoughts and love, she was mumbling "It’s your fault… your fault…"

“Madam, with all due respect. You don’t know everything!” The man was starting to lose patience. “He was unstable..."

"HE WAS IN MOURNING, DESTROYED!" Lifting her head and looking strongly at him, even if she was still kneeling on the ground, Violet was raging! 

The agent was trying to stay calm despite the woman's verbal assault when his partner walks near him to gives him a message before rushing back to the house. Richmond, turns toward the manor where the firemen were rapidly putting the gear back in the trucks supervised by half-a-dozen government officials. “My men are going in...”.

 

 

The West wing of the house was still mainly intact, in spite of fifteen years of neglect. Holding his cane firmly, he was feeling better after the pills he had taken an hour ago and the rest during the drive, Sherlock walks near his brother and pushes it a bit aside from the two others and asks quietly. “Mycroft... What are you hiding from me? More secrets? I thought that time was over? What happened fifteen years ago? What is big enough to threaten us with? Because, you know what it is... It’s a game, a power-play, a way of showing, for whomever they are, that they have a hold on the Holmes family, on us. Especially on you.” As his brother remains silent, he swears silently “It’s too late to stay silent... What do you know?” Mycroft was about to open his mouth when a shout from the second floor stops him.

“Sir! I found DI Lestrade! Second floor, the library!” The voice was urgent but not panicking, a good sign that Greg wasn’t harmed. Rushing up the stairs, Mycroft was holding his soulmate in a matter of seconds.

“Gregory, love, it’s me... Open your eyes!” He was kissing his forehead softly, trying to wake him up without creating unneeded stress. "Are you okay? Are you hurt...” His hands were caressing and checking, searching for wounds, but he finds nothing but scratches and bruising. As Gregory's eyes remain closed, his initial joy was fading into distress with each passing minute when John rushes into the room.

“Mycroft, let me check him would you?” The doctor knew that stepping between soulmates when one of them is sick or wounded wasn’t a good idea. “Will you let me do this for him? For you?”  Looking dazed, the government man slowly lets go of his hold on Greg and nods. “Thank you, Mycroft, I won't be long.” Once his hands were on his friend, he rapidly checks his vital signs and for the presence of internal wounds. Doing a thorough job but as swiftly as possible. “It’s okay Mycroft, you can hold his head now. Don’t worry, he’s only lightly sedated, but I would like to have a scan of his abdomen. It looks like he received a severe blow and with his recent gun wound it’s better to be safe than sorry.” He was getting back on his feet when Sherlock enters the library, an envelope in his hand. 

“I went to our old bedrooms Myc’, someone left you a note.” Extending his arm, he gives his brother a small envelope, a match to the one they found at the abandoned factory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the unusually long delay! Hope it wasn't in vain :-)
> 
> The next chapter going to be the continuation of that journey in the past... Then an epilogue (or two) and the end. I think.
> 
> Morgane


	56. A night to forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Sherlock learn what really happened that night.

Gregory’s head rested delicately on Mycroft's lap as he was stroking his hair slowly, feeling calmer finally. His soulmate was still passed out but an ambulance was now on the way.  _He’s safe, here with me. The shift in our relationship was caused by the suppressants and that crazy plan my brother had created. Everything will be fine_. Now that he was untied, nothing more could be done for his soulmate until he was examined at the hospital. Taking the letter from Sherlock's hand, he sighs to himself.  _What’s this, again?_ Knitting his brows in confusion, he reads the few lines many times before giving it back to his brother.

After a go-ahead from his older brother, the detective starts reading aloud for John’s and Simpson’s benefit. “ _Hello MM Holmes. So good to see you working hand in hand like good brothers should! As you can see, DI Lestrade is in perfect health; his demise wasn’t the goal of that little chase as you may already have realized. It was only for the perk of seeing you running after him. A soulmate is not good news for men in your position, especially for you, Mycroft, if I may call you by your given name, Mr. Holmes. But you probably understand now that I am in a position of infinite luxury where I ‘may’ do quite a lot. One of my agents will contact one of you at my convenience_.” Quickly turning the sheet of paper over for any signs that can help decipher the provenance of the missive, Sherlock snorts in exasperation. “It’s clean, not a clue or a trace...”

“I don’t understand. What position? What can they do against you?”  _Moriarty is dead, his associates are dead or in prison._   John was looking at Sherlock, worried.

Turning to his brother, still nursing Greg who was starting to come back from the side-effect of the various sedatives he had received over the last twelve hours, the detective demands, “speak.”

“Not now, not here... The most important thing is that someone takes care of Gregory. The ambulance should be here in a few minutes, we’ll talk when I’m certain that everything is fine with him.” 

“Fine. Anyway, I’ve got the feeling that our parents should be present.” As his brother was opening his mouth to protest, he continues quickly “and you have no say in the matter.” Turning his back, he walks outside the room as quickly as possible with his stick, John following closely while muttering that he still doesn’t understand what’s going on...

 

_Back to Musgrave Hall..._

Violet was standing near her husband, holding his hand tightly even if his usual soothing presence was muddled by his own emotion.  _It’s hard, so hard... Please, for the love of my boys, please..._  But her prayer wasn’t granted as a body was carried out of the house, already in a body bag. “Noooo...” She runs, pushing everyone around. The agents, unable to stop the grieving woman without hurting her, had no choice except letting her open the zipper. Siger, already behind her, puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. Placing his fingers over hers, they open the plastic bag together, shaking with tears and emotions. And relief. “I... I don’t understand... It’s not him!”  _Thank God... But who’s that man?_

Richmond firmly leads them away from the unknown corpse as another body was moved out of the house. “Wait here...” He walks quickly to the second stretcher and was able to identify without a doubt the second victim. “Ms Holmes, I’m sorry. This is Rudyard Vernet.” Moving closer to the man, Violet cries as she recognizes the beautiful face of her younger brother Rudy.

 

 

“What?” Sherlock was looking at his brother with incredulity. They were back in Mycroft office at the government private hospital. Gregory was sleeping, and, to his soulmate's satisfaction, the scanner hadn’t found anything more serious than a broken rib. The detective jumps to step in front of his brother. “What are you talking about! Uncle Rudy died in a plane crash in Africa... No one died at Mulgrave Hall!” Displeased to be back at the hospital, regardless of the reason, and now with the addition of that cock-and-bull story, he was incensed. “Are you crazy?”  

Tired by all the emotions of the day, Mycroft sat back in his chair.  _As if I could come up with a story like that!_ The meeting with his parents forty-eight hours after the fire was fresh in his mind as if it happened yesterday!  _Mycroft, your uncle died in the fire, it was a suicide because he was so sad about his soulmate... But we can't talk about it, your brother mustn't know! He's so fragile if he learns that his dear uncle committed suicide because of his soulmate's death he will be terrified at the idea of possibly having a soulmate! Wait until he's older, or even better... Don't ever talk about this! You understand? Don't talk about this!_  The pleading tone of his parents, his mother still crying because of the loss of her beloved younger brother, broke his heart. Returning to the present, Mycroft responds to his brother accusations. “Sherlock... This is the only thing I know... I promise! That night a man died in the fire and as far as I know, it was Uncle Rudy.” He tried, while he was climbing to his position, to find more information about that night but to no avail. Everything was sealed... Even to him. “The only people who know more about that night are our parents.”

“But, why did they lie to me?” Sherlock always loved his uncle so dearly, being misled like this about something that important was heartbreaking. “Why did YOU lie to me!” The unspoken  _Again!_ was clearly audible to Mycroft and John. “WHY?”

His mother’s voice suddenly breaks the tension. “Because we asked him.” 

Turning to the door where his parents were standing, they had driven to the hospital as quickly as possible after Sherlock's call, the detective whispers brokenly. "This... this is true? I don't understand... Why the secrecy? Why have you hidden this from me?" Pushing away the emotional pain of being lied to for so long by the people he respected most, he coldly asks, "why does someone think that information is a way to get control over us?" 

Pulling out chairs for his parents, Mycroft smiles sadly to them. "It is time, you must reveal everything..."

 

Violet remains lost in her thoughts for a few minutes, her gaze finding peace in her husband's calm eyes. "Rudy... Rudy was vibrant. While I was serious, focussing on my calculations and my research, he was into everything that was exciting! Gifted with languages, a good fighter, master of disguises, excellent at what advance computing was at that time and so, so beautiful," she turns her gaze fondly at her younger son, clearly seeing her little brother in him, "he was quickly recruited by MI6." Mycroft, amazed that he wasn't aware of that, raises his head in surprise. "Yes, Mycroft, you didn't know but you are not the first to work for the secret services..." Not listening to her son who was protesting that he wasn't a  _damn spy_ , she continues with more confidence in her voice. "His career was promising, he was gifted but as he was so talented and as he hasn't found his soulmate yet, the government didn't mind." With satisfaction, she looks at her sons. Happy that the world was changing. "But... one day... He was in Moscow when he met Sofia. It was love at first sight, the link was pulling them together strongly..." Her brother's bliss when he brought the woman to Musgrave Hall! She was stunning and so in love with her brother. "They were magnificent together."

John, enthralled by the story, asks softly, "Violet... What happened?"

Blinking back tears, the old woman smiles to her son-in-law. "The worst..." Unable to speak anymore, she presses her head on her husband's shoulder. Siger, after a small kiss on his wife's hair, continues the incredible tale.

"Some of Rudy's colleagues and superiors weren't satisfied by the turn of events... They weren't thrilled that one of their most promising agents was turning into a lovesick teenager! A lovesick teenager in love with a _Russian_. They spread rumours that she wasn't his soulmate, that it was a trick, that she was a spy, an enemy..." He shakes his head, still angry about all this. "How could they... He... gave everything for this country. He was ready to retire, years before his time, simply for the joy of living with her. They were talking about having kids, the joy in his eyes when he thought about giving you a cousin!" 

Mycroft, still a bit angry with himself to haven't been able to find out these missing facts, asks dryly. "What's more.."

"Isn't it enough?" John asks, not understanding Mycroft's stubbornness.

"No. It's not." He stands, looking at his parents. "If it was only a suicide, they wouldn't have worked that hard to hide everything. Someone wouldn't dare to blackmail us for only that... A tragic death of a soulmate, followed by the suicide of the partner... it's sadly not even newsworthy."

"You're right, Myc', there has to be something else." Sherlock's mind was turning at full speed... Trying to put all the pieces together. Trying to find the right question. After a pause, he asks in the softest tone John had ever heard from his boyfriend. "Mummy, the young woman, Sofia... How did she die?"

Her eyes full of tears, Violet murmured "She was killed..." Wanting to end that terrible story, the words rush from her mouth. "Rudy was afraid for her... He wanted to protect her while he went on one last mission. One last mission before retirement. One last time before his future with his soulmate." Mrs, Holmes smiled dreamily as a vision of her hopeful brother appeared in front of her. "For her protection, he placed her with a man he thought was on his side but... When he returned from his trip to Asia he learned that Sofia had a terrible... accident. While walking near the cliff at Hasting, she lost her balance and fell to her death."  _The poor girl, he should have left her with us! "_ He wasn't a fool and realize on the spot that it wasn't true, that she was killed..."

"He came back at Mulgrave, so angry! Devastated and wanting to avenge his soulmate..." The manor resonated for days with anguished screams, followed by days of silence and seclusion. "Until one day..." Mr. Holmes stopped, unable to find the right words.

"One day?" Mycroft pressed.

"His best friend came to talk to him..." 

 

 

_An hour before the fire..._

"Tell me someone took her from you... tell me that you were drugged... that it wasn't your fault!" As his partner, a man he trusted with his life for nearly ten years, remains silent, Rudy's face turns sour, his disgust clearly showing. "You bastard! I left her with you, under your protection! You were my friend! My best friend! How could you..." Rudy was fuming, trying to control himself to get the full story. _It can't be true!_ Protest _, Michael, protest!_  His voice was stained with tears while he begs one last time. "Michael, tell me it's not true!"

Unable to lie, the other agent uses the only defense he thoughts his friend may understand "It was my  _order_ , Rudy, I had no choice! You know how it is..." Stepping further away from the man in horror, Rudy felt his heart broke a second time by his best friend. "You were blinded by her! Can't you see it? She wasn't good for you! Think of your career!" Shaking his head, not comprehending the deepness of his friend's pain he mumbles "It was only a woman, get over it and come back to work. Get back to your life!"

With a shaking hand, Rudy removes his gun from his holster and raises it until he levels it with his friend's heart. "Let see if _you_ are able to live without a heart, Michael." And he fires. 

 

 

"We know that because Rudy's partner was wired... They thought he was now on the side of the enemy and wanted evidence!"  _How could they have been so wrong, he was just so sad!_ "We never heard the gun, the silencer did its job... They made us listen to the tape to be certain that we knew what happened and that we didn't start a vendetta against the government."  _It was so silly of them, the government is responsible even if they didn't pull the trigger_. "... after the noise of Michael falling on the floor, there was the sound of liquid being splashed on the floor and the strike of a match. Then one last light thud of the gun followed by the sound of a second body falling on the floor... After that, it was only the crackling sound of the fire."

"They were in London, listening to everything, they arrived at the same time as our local firemen." Siger was holding a now sobbing Violet tightly. "It was too late... They died on the spot. We left Mulgrave Hall to rot, not wanting to be near the house. It wasn't a home anymore..."

The brothers remain silent for a long time, both thinking about how wrong they had been. John places himself near his soulmate, stroked his back, murmuring words that Sherlock wasn't able to understand.  _They lied to me because they thought I was too emotional, that if I ended up with a soulmate it was going to end the same as Uncle Rudy. But this is silly, any soulmate reacts badly when something happens to his lover. Am I such a liability? Am I such a freak?_

Reading her youngest son like an open book, Violet kneels in front of him, taking his hands. "Darling, 'Lock, my love, look at me." She waits until Sherlock eyes, full of hurt, finally look at her. "You were so curious, always doubting everything, always reading the crime column in the paper, looking up old unsolved cases... I was so afraid that you would try to solve the mystery of your uncle's death! I was so afraid for you! It was easier to lie... I am so sorry... Know that I never doubted you, never!" Keeping one hand on her son, she took John's and join them. "You were already strong, but now with John, you are invincible! No more lies..." she turns to Mycroft before adding, "never!"

 

Wishing that Gregory was near him, Mycroft thoughts were focussing on the last secret.  _Who the hell is using that against us?_ His phone in hands, he quickly texts Anthea to check if the idea he had was possible.  _I can't see anyone else, it must be Magnussen. But if it so, we can do nothing except wait..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters left... For real :-)


	57. Family reunion - part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weeks and months pass without anything out of the ordinary. With the exception of life of course... Cases, international crises, criminals. 
> 
> That sword of Damocles with Magnussen's name on it that constantly upon their heads without being able to stop it.
> 
> And one day it arrived. The worst day of the year. Christmas.

“We are going to your parents for Christmas,” John says when he was certain that he had the total attention of his boyfriend.  

His soulmate's statement was nearly lost on Sherlock, as all of his senses were occupied elsewhere.  _What? Why?_   “No! We won’t! And... And don’t you dare stop doing what... what you are doing right now!” The detective's head falls back on the bed, eyes fluttering as he waits for his soulmate to continue the most glorious blow job of all time.  _Maybe not the best, that time in Lestrade’s office was spectacular! Or was it that time in that bosquet in Regent Park, when we were right beside the crowd at Shakespeare-in-the-Park. Yes... That was really nice. John's talented mouth on me during Richard III soliloquy... Brilliant!_ As he woolgathers, seconds and minutes pass, with nothing happening.  _Good Grace!_ “Ohhhhh GOD! That’s not fair! JOHN! I insist that you go on! My penis is waiting!”  

“Hummmm?” John extends his hand to grab the tattered paperback novel that was on the bedside table, smiling fondly at his lover's vocabulary.  _Who says ‘penis’ when talking about their cock when in the middle of foreplay. I am a doctor and I’m not doing that...Christ I love the man!_   He still remembers how vexed Sherlock was when he started laughing at his serious request for ‘full-intercourse-including-anal-penetration-with-his-penis’ now that his health was perfectly fine. Fighting a fit of laughter, he asks lightly, “what did you say love?” Making a show of searching for where he had stopped, he starts reading. Even though he didn’t really like to use this tactic, as it was painful for him as well, he knew that he was going to win. His soulmate's longing was starting to cloud his own smugness.  _One elephant, two elephants, three el..._  

“OKAY!!!!” With a vicious smirk the detective adds, “but YOU are calling your mom to tell her that we won’t be able to go to her place.”  _A-ha!_

“Your mom already invited her... Harry is going to her in-laws.” With a victorious grin, he drops his book and his interest returns to Sherlock's needs again in earnest, laughing softly when he heard his lover grumble protestations against John's manipulative tendency right before his voice turned into moans... 

 

“Mycroft!” Greg was softly shaking his soulmate. “Come on sleepy head! We’ve got a lot to do today!” Turning on his side with a light snore, the government man was looking ten years younger.  _He’s already a few years younger than me, that’s not fair!_ Feeling a bit like a nuisance but doing it anyway, Lestrade places a hand under Mycroft's ridiculously expensive pyjama top and starts to caress, pinch and tickle until his boyfriend finally acknowledges his presence!

“Greg-Greg-Greg-go-ry, stop that at this instttttant!”  _I was sleeping and having the most marvellous dream!_ “Or if you don’t want me to dream about you, you must rapture me yourself!”

But his soulmate was pulling off the bedspread, pestering the poor man despite his (quite effective) suggestive voice. “Get up, darling, it won't work! We’ve got to go!”

“I don’t have to work, you don’t have to work, it’s Saturday... LET ME SLEEEEEEP!” Mycroft's tone was more challenging than seductive now. After what was quickly turning in a pillow fight,  _pillow fights at our age!_ Holmes finally asks the right question. “Why?”

Pinning his boyfriend on the bed, a little out of breath, Greg repeats while taking a pillow from Mycroft’s hands. “Why?”  

“Why do we have to get up?” Pushing his pelvis forward as he said ‘up’ he clearly expresses what he would like to do instead of leaving the bed... Kissing the tempting lips of the man below him, Greg playfully grinds one time (tease!) before getting off the bed.

“Shopping! Christmas is coming, and we have nothing! No tree, no decorations, no special goodies, no gifts!” Grabbing clothes, he walks into the  _en-suite_  avoiding the tempting look of a dishevelled and alluring Mycroft. He was about to start the shower when something brought him back to the bedroom. “What did you say, darling?”  

With a dreamy smile, that appears every time Gregory calls him love, darling or precious, Mycroft repeats “Anthea.”

“Yes, of course, my love.” The detective smiles warmly at how good at all this his love was becoming, “Of course, we’re going to find something special for Anthea. She totally deserves it. What a year she's had, poor woman!”

Frowning, Mycroft was about to explain that it wasn't what he wanted to say! That in fact, Anthea was the one who always  _does_  the gifts shopping, when Gregory’s words finally sink in.  _Damn, he’s right... She deserved something special, even if she already went on that Hawaii’s expensive vacation she had asked for.  And prepping for Christmas is probably one of those things that couples do... together..._ “All right... You win, I’m getting up.”  

Laughing, Greg calls him from the shower stall “Come in here, you sexy beast, I'll help you wake up!”

 

 

A few weeks later, they were almost ready, waiting for the car. Arms full of thoughtful gifts, a mix of expensive (Mycroft’s choices) and silly (Greg’s choices). Running from their bedroom and his office, Mycroft asks anxiously, looking at the mountain of stuff “Do we have everything?”  

“If we bring something else My', we’re going to need a van... And we don't even have a child!” Placing a hand on his soulmate's arm, he kisses him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t panic love, it’s only your parents. And Sherlock and John. And John’s mum. Everything is going to be fine... We deserve a break and quality family time, don’t you think?”

Rolling his eyes while warming/panicking at the idea of a little child in the house, he texts Simpson that they were ready. “If you seriously think that everything is going to run smoothly, you don’t know my brother that well...”

With a chuckle, Greg argues “Never assumed that it was going to run smoothly... but it’s going to be  _interesting_.” The detective was thrilled to get a real family Christmas, as his parents had passed away years ago, and after his divorce, even before his marriage had ended, Christmases hadn't been fun since he couldn't remember when.  _But this, a real family, a feast, a country house with a big fireplace... It’s going to be perfect!_ The love that Mr and Mrs Holmes offered him always brought warmth into his heart. And he knows that, in spite of anything that Mycroft or Sherlock said, the brothers were closer now than they have ever been.

“Come on Mycroft, Simpson is here...” He was opening the door when Anthea steps out of the car to help them with their luggage. “Anthea? Sorry to be blunt, but what are you doing here?”

With a smirk and a wink, she replies loud enough for her boss who was still inside the house. “Mrs Holmes invited me.” As expected, a string of muffled curses came from the kitchen where Mycroft was busy choosing a few bottles of wine.  

“Excellent!” Beaming at the good time that was fast approaching, Greg shouts to his soulmate to hurry-up as they need to pick up John and Sherlock. “And bring a few more bottles, darling!”  _Got the feeling we’re going to need it!”_

_   _

_   _ _   _

John and Sherlock were standing inside 221b, waiting for the car. Without Ms Hudson to fuss over them, she had left for her sister's house on the 23rd, the tension between the men was palpable. The little domestic they had the day before was still echoing in their minds. Something silly about milk or whatever.  _God, I stormed out on him without warning, without him knowing how bad a day I had._   He tried to explain himself since, but Sherlock was avoiding him, not even playing his violin or sharing their bed. His pained words were horrible to John's ear!  _I’m such a burden, don’t want to be even more of a hindrance! I think I'm going to sleep in your old bedroom tonight..._  John was now walking on eggshells around his lover which was making the detective even more upset!  _And now you can’t even be yourself around me! Why don’t you leave me right away... You know that you won’t be able to suffer my presence for your whole life... Better to end it right now!_

Everything was perfect, more than perfect in fact, most of the time. But the detective's insecurities often got the best of him... As if any comment or slight criticism from John was the proof of how unlucky he was for him to have someone as Sherlock as his soulmate. _How wrong he is!_ __

So they were sitting on the stairs, waiting without saying a word; a pile of coloured gifts at their feet. A shared grey cloud over their souls, unable to pick the other one up. John, realizing that he never explained why he was so angry, decided to make the first step.  _It’s Christmas, I’ve got a brilliant gift for him... I won’t let my pride get the best of me._ Looking at the beautiful man on the stairs below him, thinking once more that he was the luckiest man alive, he pushes playfully his (clean) shoe on his soulmate's thigh that was already clad in his Belfast, nagging tenderly until Sherlock turns his gaze towards him in exasperation.

“What do you want?” The man was looking devastated even as he tried to keep up a calm demeanour.  _I’m so horrible when John is perfect... And he’s here, all dressed-up and ready to go to a farce of a family Christmas. Probably because he doesn’t want Mommy and his Mum to be upset. I hate that I love him so much..._

“Love, stop thinking a second would you... And just listen to me.” He pauses, placing a hand on Sherlock’s nape, fussing with his scarf to be certain that he won’t get a cold.  _Even if he won’t admit it, he’s still fragile after all he went through._  “I’m sorry for yesterday... I was exhausted physically and mentally. A young child... At the clinic... He... he was diagnosed with cancer.” Tears pearl in his eyes as he remembered the parents’ distress. “I was feeling so useless, so... inadequate. Then when I went home to you, you were so happy, exuberant, because you saved that woman. That you solved that difficult case!” He smiles, so proud of his marvellous soulmate. “You are so brilliant, a real proper genius... when I am... nothing. A GP.” He chuckles sadly. “A GP that had to deliver bad news to the parents of a three-year-old kid without being able to do anything to help. So I snapped at you without reason. I found something silly to excuse my behaviour... I don't care about the bloody milk. I am so sorry, darling... I love you so much, it scares me to death sometime. The idea that you may find someone more deserving and that someday, you will leave me.”

Moving silently to John’s step, Sherlock hugs his boyfriend firmly but with tenderness, and murmurs in his ear, “I will never, ever, be away again from you. How could I? John Hamish Watson, you are my heart, my oxygen.” He kisses him sweetly. “I am not a brilliant and caring GP but I know for sure that we can’t live without oxygen.” Pressing his forehead to his soulmate's, he sighs, “I am so sorry for your young patient John, but I know that the fact that you are here is going to be a great comfort to his family. Because you are you, the best and kindest man I could ever have as a soulmate.” They were still holding each other and snogging a little when the door abruptly opens to reveal a grinning Greg.

“Come on guys! Stop canoodling on the stairs and get in the car! Your parents and Mummy’s decadent chocolate pudding is waiting for us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and love... More to follow with the conclusion of an important matter in the next (and probably last) chapter.
> 
> But Sherlock and Mycroft totally have the best soulmate for them don't you think :-)
> 
>  
> 
> 2018/09/04: The gigantic last chapter is in the hands of my beautiful beta!


	58. Family Reunion (Part 2) aka Happily Ever After.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter... If you are still with me, please leave a little comment or kudos so I know that I haven't lost everyone on that long road :-)
> 
> So... Ready for Christmas at the Holmeses everybody?

The ride in the car was going smoothly. Mycroft was mocking Sherlock about how sentimental he was, holding hands with John and all; Sherlock was taunting Mycroft about everything he could think of. But it was pleasant nonetheless, the tone light and relaxed. But it was a façade, beneath it, everything was darkly serious until a way to get Magnussen off their back was found. 

After a prolonged silence, Greg asks the question that no one  was daring to ask. “Do we have news about that bastard?” He was still mad at having been kidnapped as a pawn against Mycroft. A way to get his attention. And the idea of a threat against his new family was enraging! “It’s been months! Without any new communication! I’m sick of his games!”

“Darling, this is exactly what he wants...” Without thinking about the fact that he teased Sherlock about exactly the same thing, he took Gregory’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry...   He’s a pest, a nuisance.  One day someone is going to step on him!”  _Sooner the better, can’t believe I can’t do anything against him!_  Without real proof, and not wanting to bring his family into a scandal, Mycroft had chosen to stay silent about the subject to his associates.  He discreetly confirmed that the story his parents have told them was the truth and, sadly, it was.  _I can’t believe it! Uncle Rudy, a spy! He always liked to dressed-up but..._ Mycroft was a patient man, it wasn’t hard for him to keep an eye on Magnussen and let the thing simmer until an action is required but for Sherlock, it was hard; John’s firm rule against doing anything on his own was the only thing that kept Sherlock out of the magnate's path at that point!

The subject remained closed as the car arrives at the cottage. It was a nice cottage, a cheerful retreat after the horror of Musgrave Hall. Now that he knew the whole story, John was once more amazed at the Holmes’ tranquil happiness and love.  _They went through so much..._ As they turned into the drive-way, Violet and Siger, are joined by John’s mum and Ms Hudson, with big smiles and tearful eyes. Still in the car, Sherlock frowns “Ms. Hudson? She was supposed to be at her sister’s house...”

Mycroft replied with a chuckle. “Don’t fuss because of a change of plans, Sherlock, you know how Mommy likes to have a houseful of people, especially at the silly season, and Ms. Hudson is a friend of the family.”

As he gazed at his brother with amazement, the detective’s glare softened. “You’ve changed, Myc’...”

“And is it for better or for worse?” The older man asks with a warm smile.

“I will need more data before I draw any conclusions, brother mine...” Sherlock teased as his soulmate laughed, nearly bursting with happiness.

Opening the door, the doctor jumps in his mother arms. “Mum, I’m so happy! It’s been weeks!” Holding her son in front of her, the old lady was beaming.  _He’s looking so well, happy, no clouds in his eyes..._ The difference in the last months was so pleasing for her motherly heart! She knew all the torments that her son had to overcome before Sherlock realized that they were soulmates, the anguish when he was ‘away’ (She’s still not too happy about this ‘fake’ death thing) and the bliss he’s living now that they are both together as a couple, even if it wasn't always easy! She was kept away when Sherlock was officially dead, John afraid of not being able to lie to his mother if they saw each other in person, but since his return, they had met a few times. But, it was the first meeting with her son-in-law.

Looking at Sherlock, who was purposely busying himself with the luggage in order to avoid her gaze, John’s mother was anxiously looking at him. Even if she knew that it was bound to go well, she was aware that the detective was secretive and shy behind all the bravado. A warm smile from Violet who mouthed to her ‘ _give him time_ ’ brought her courage. Holding her son's arm, she turns to walk into the house. “Come on John, you must see! Violet has done the most wonderful Christmas tree!”

Ms. Hudson, a welcome addition to the little group, claimed Lestrade's arm. “Come with me Inspector, let them alone a bit.”

Letting Gregory go with a sigh, Mycroft turned to his driver. “Now that all the baggage is out of the car, you can go Simpson. I’ll contact you if...”

But Simpson, blushing a bit, cleared his throat. “Sir, hmm...” He stops talking, swaying from one foot to another, unusually unsure of his next move until Ms. Holmes saves him!  
  
“I invited him, Mycroft, don’t you think it’s better? That poor man, alone in his room, at Christmas...” She tsk’d, shaking her head. “Come in, _Christopher_... Come in. Welcome to you both... You are in the green room. It’s in the basement, but it’s really cozy and really cute I think. And you’ve got your own  _en-suite_.”

Looking between Simpson and Anthea, both standing close to each other, Mycroft was speechless. “What? ANTHEA! SIMPSON! What’s all this...”

“Don’t be daft, brother, they’ve been together for months... Can’t believe how blind you are sometimes...” With a nod to Violet and without looking to their boss, the new couple quickly (and silently) entered the house.

Finally, alone with her boys, Violet gathered them into her arms. “Do you have news? About our... affair?” Mr. Holmes asks, holding his wife hand tightly.

Shaking his head sadly, Mycroft answers quietly. “No, nothing, not a word. He didn’t contact either of us. Have you?”

“No, nothing on our side... Is it normal? It’s been months, I don’t understand how he could play with us like that?”

Exasperated, Sherlock seethed under his breath. “I could...”

“Sherlock! We talked about this...” Mycroft, holding his brother and forcing him to look at him in his eyes, murmurs, forcefully, “you’ve got too much to lose. Do you want to end up dead? In prison, away from John? Do you want John to go on a frenzy to save you, risking his own life?”

“I know, Myc’, but...”

“I won’t be able to protect you if something happens, and... If something happened to you, I don’t think I will be able to deal with it... Sherlock, you are my brother, my friend, I... I can’t lose you. Not again. Not for real.” As tears appear in his older brother’s eyes, the detective agrees to stay put. For now, at least...

With a last big hug to both men, Violet pushes her worries away. “Come inside now, it’s freezing! And I think that John’s mother would love to get to know you, darling...” Panic quickly replaces the anger in Sherlock's eyes, making the others laugh affectionately. “Don’t be afraid son, she’s a lovely woman...”

Walking down with Gregory from their bedroom, Mycroft was finally relaxing as the familiar sounds and odours of the cottage surrounded him. The recent epic snogging session wasn’t remotely related to his good mood, of course. Until he meets his driver at the bottom of the stairs.  _Good Grace, Mummy and her big heart! And I only have my waistcoat... And no shoes!_

“Mister Holmes, I...” Simpson, as well, was clearly not at ease with the situation, “just want to say that I’ve spoken with Anthea and if you... if you don’t want us to... we can leave and...” He raises himself taller before he continues with a more assertive tone. “But, for our relationship, we are in love with each other, and I won’t let her go. So... with all my respect, if you do not approve you can...”

“Peace, peace...” Mycroft sighed and placed a hand on his driver’s shoulder. The man has been a loyal and trustful employee, more than an employee if he was honest. “I don’t want you to break up, it’s just that... having you here. This is a bit odd.” Pulling on his waistcoat to straighten it, he mutters. ”I am not used to mixing family and work.” At Simpson's hurt look, small but visible, Mycroft resumes “but you are a _friend_ , I hope you know that, Simpson. I’ve put my life in your capable hands numerous times and I have a great respect for your judgment.”

Extending his hand, the driver/bodyguard replies with sincerity. “Sir, I am honoured...”

Shaking the offered hand, Holmes chuckles as he derisively pointed at his own socked feet with his other hand. "How am I supposed to get respect after that?"

"You've got it already and for always, Sir, you deserved it tenfold."

With a small nod, Mycroft acknowledges the man praise, and without adding a world walk out to be with his family and... friends. Turning before he opens the door leading to the living room “Go get Anthea, Simp... _Christopher_ , and join us for a drink before dinner.”

With a smile, the young man bows “Yes, Sir.”

The evening was in full swing, the dinner has been superb, the three older women worked well the day before to prepared everything while Siger was chopping firewood and running errands. Sherlock, unusually full, was looking at John with a loving smile. The sight of his soulmate playing chess with his father brought a warm feeling into his heart.  _How is it that looking at him while he’s interacting with people other than me can bring me joy? Surely, I should be jealous? John should be with me, only me... All the time. So why am I so happy that he’s having a good time with father? Is this because it’s just more proof that he’s my family now, that he’s my world, my soul._ He frowns. _I don’t understand..._ His gaze was still fixed on John's hands,  _the way he touches the pieces – how could that be sexy..._  and didn’t realize that his lover’s mother was now sitting near him until she spoke quietly next to him.

“It’s hard to put your eyes away from them when they are in the same room, and impossible to focus on something else when they’re away, isn’t it?”

Sherlock didn’t turn his gaze. “Them?”

“Soulmate... I remember when mine was...” Her eyes close a second “with me. Physically with me... Because, even if I can’t touch him anymore, he’s always there,” she touches her heart with a loving smile. “Before, it was like having my soul split in two... the constant feeling of being incomplete when we were not physically or mentally connected.”

Feeling her pain as she thinks about her beloved, Sherlock slowly extends his hand to cover hers. They stayed silent, watching John with love. Understanding each other without having to say a word... Until a noise coming from outside brought them back. A car was pulling into the driveway, stopping in front of the house. “Mummy, are you expecting someone else?” Simpson, acting on years of instinct, was already up and near the window, gun in hand.

John rises promptly and, after a quick look at in father-in-law, runs to the door calling to Mycroft’s bodyguard, “Stand down, Christopher! Got this! Nothing to worry about! Back in a sec'!”

Laughing, Siger smiles at everyone. “I think, it’s time for exchanging gifts!” The look he sent to his wife, as well as Mrs. Watson, was full of joy. As often with parents of soulmates, Mrs. Watson and the Holmeses were quickly becoming friends. It took only a few hours for them to act as if they were family. Siger becoming the centre of the attention of the three women with good grace, even if he sometimes escaped to his office for a little rest! The other four were all aware of the surprise, of course, to Sherlock's annoyance!

“What’s going on?” Sherlock asks his brother who, after his first alarm at the unexpected visitor, was back at Gregory’s side with his glass of wine.

Mycroft raises his shoulder indifferently. “Gift time, apparently.”

The detective was about to argue that his casual look wasn’t really useful at the moment when a happy bark resonates in the house. Turning on his heel, he saw John standing in the doorway holding a puppy in his arms, a timid but hopeful smile on his face. “... That’s... a dog?”

“Humm... Yes. More precisely, YOUR dog.” He paused, chuckling at the puppy who was licking his face enthusiastically. “Stop that...  _puppy_. If you keep it, you better find him a name quickly. Puppy Watson-Holmes is quite a mouthful.”

“For real... You are giving me a dog?” He walks swiftly to stand near Ms. Hudson with pleading eyes. “Can we have a dog? Please? I will be extra careful, and it won’t be a bother... I promise.”

Placing a calming hand on her favourite tenant, the youngest son of her dear friends, she smiles softly at him. “Sherlock, of course, you can! John asked me months ago and I said yes without any doubt.” She motions John to come near them, so she can pet the puppy. “What a nice fellow! I remember how you took care of Redbeard, darling, when you were little, I know that you are great with dogs!”

At the memory of Redbeard, a cloud passes through Sherlock’s eyes, but he shakes it quickly – even before John could send positive thoughts to his soulmate – and states seriously. “His name going to be Bellamy.”

Gregory, joining the little gang around the cute dog, laughed “Fitting, another Pirate... And one of the best.”

Looking at Greg with respect, Sherlock didn’t take the time to ask the policeman  _how the Hell he knew that_ , as he was now holding the little dog in his arms. Keeping the now sleepy puppy close to him, not caring about the fur that was now covering his expensive shirt, he murmurs for Bellamy's ears only,“you’re a beauty, you know, Bellamy... A setter, but black, a tribute to the best of dogs.” Changing the dog's position, he spots a little red mark on the animal chest, over his heart.  _A little bit of Redbeard is watching over me..._ blinking back tears, he hugs John with his remaining arm. “Thank you, this is the best gift. The best.”

“It’s going to be challenging for a few months, but we’re going to be able to deal with a puppy, don’t you think?” In fact, John was a bit afraid as their life was already hectic, but the look of happiness in his lover’s eyes was the ultimate reward. “Anyway, we are always walking or running... it won’t be such a difference!” The dog yawns in agreement, and the room erupts in laughter.

“Okay! Now that this little treasure has finished stealing the limelight, time for the other ordinary gifts!” Mr. Holmes was standing near the tree, a little box in his hands. “This is for you my love...”

Gifts and kisses and wishes were exchanged in a peaceful and joyful atmosphere. A family ring, a gift from Sherlock and Mycroft for Violet, Ms. Hudson and Ms. Watson, brought another round of tears. It was a beautiful ring, at the right ring size of course, that combined the four birth gemstones of the four men. The landlady cried tears of joy at that gift from the men she loves like the children she never had. 

As they were finishing opening the gifts, John watches Sherlock who was becoming more nervous. “Are you all right, love?”

He gazes down at the dog that was sleeping peacefully on his lap, “Yes, it’s just that... my gifts are kind of silly when I think about yours.”

John kisses him tenderly. “I love my new jumper... And the new computer is a brilliant gift... Seriously, I’m going to find a way to actually block you from using it!”  But his tender look wasn’t menacing at all.

“John! Another one for you!” Siger, who was still distributing gifts, was holding a box beautifully wrapped. “For you... from Sherlock.”

“Another one? You shouldn’t have...” Taking the box, he tried to figure out what it was looking lovingly at the detective, but it was impossible. “The wrapping is so beautiful darling, you are always so talented...” Opening the box without trashing the paper, he saw that was a pile of music CDs and laughed. “Don’t tell me you got me a bunch of classical musi... Oh... Sher... Sherlock.” Tears in his eyes, John watches his soulmates in awes. “How did you know, love?”

The detective was taken aback a bit by the reaction. “Do you... do you remember him?”

“Who is it darling?” John’s mum asks, seeing the emotion on her son’s face. Taking the box from the doctor's hands, she picked up one of the CDs. “Oh... John!”

“Okay, this is weird. What’s going on?” Greg asks.

“A singer that I always liked. I used to listen to him when... when we weren’t together.” John sniffs, emotions building in his throat. “I never... never purchased the discs because it was kind of sacred. The way his songs just played on the Uni radio station when... when I needed it. I wrote about it in my journal... Then I forgot about him... when I found you...”

“I knew him as well but, for me, his songs were lace with bad memories... a time when I loathed myself... Of my hate against... someone.” Sherlock blushes as the memories of his hatred against his brother resurfaces as well as the memory of his suicide attempt, “But when we read your journal, you talked about that song that you wished that I could listen to. It was saying something like ...  _If you say you belong to me, I say I belong to you, I could be your painkiller… if you’ll be mine too._  I searched for it when you were asleep and I was so surprised when I found out it was the same singer.” Unable to watch John’s emotional reaction, he closed his eyes. “The singer that I listened to when I was at my lowest, was the one you used to help me. To connect with me. We were miles away, unknown to each other, and the same voice was bringing us together. I searched in your collection and your computer and realized that you didn’t have any of his discs.” Taking Jason Bajada’s albums from the box, he smiles timidly, still not looking at his soulmate. “So... I ordered them all.” He chuckles “Even those in French.” _Please understand what it means to me. I love you so much. I loved you even before I knew you._

“I love you so fucking much, don’t you dare doubt it,” was the only reply he receives as John smashes his lips with the most perfect kiss before glueing his eyes upon his soulmate’s one and murmuring “That, Sherlock Holmes, was really  _really_ good. You romantic fool!”

The others were all looking elsewhere, giving the couple a little bit of privacy, until Greg broke the spell by getting up to get a glass of punch. As everyone rushed to the bowl, Violet declared loudly – after she cleared her voice a few times for good measure, “boys, do you want a cup of punch?” As the men remained otherwise occupied, she smiled as she called out, “we’re going to do a toast and call it a night.” She paused, waiting a bit. “A night, in the  _bedroom_ , with a bed, to sleep, or  _whatever._ ”

Finally pulling away from a love-struck and pink-cheeked John, Sherlock mumbles, “okay, okay. Punch.” He rises, unable what so ever to hide his erection, and took two cups.

When everyone was up, after the toast, Mycroft asks for a refill and another toast to everyone's good health (to tease his brother of course!). After the last exchange of wishes and kisses, everyone went to bed for a good night of sleep.

Or  _whatever_  as Ms. Holmes had said.

“Oh God, I drank too much...” Mycroft was holding his head, wishing for the bed to stop spinning. “I feeling horrible.”

“Yeah... Me too.” Greg mutters, cuddling with his lover. “I usually drink beer, it must be your posh wine... Because I didn’t drink  _that_  much.”

Frowning, the younger man tries to remember how many drinks he and Gregory had without being able to.  _This is really strange..._  But his doubts were stopped as he took his blinking phone.  _How could I have so many messages, it’s Christmas for God sakes!_

“Shit!” Greg was looking at his own phone with attention. “Did you see that?" 

 

Running quickly to Sherlock’s bedroom, Mycroft enters without knocking. Shaking his brother without ceremony as Greg closes the door after him, he asks, “what did you do? I’ve told you to stay put... Fuck, Sherlock!”

John, still not fully awake, walks out of the bathroom. “Mycroft! For once he’s sleeping like a log, would you please wait a little bit later before barging on him like that! He's not feeling well...”

Mycroft, now worried about his brother's stillness, asks the doctor, “did he wake at all this morning?”

“Yes, for a few minutes, but he was feeling like shit, so I urged him to go back to sleep...” Looking at Bellamy who was sleeping in a dog bed, he smiled. “We never heard him, poor thing, he peed on the carpet.”

 

 

Mycroft rushes out of the room asking the doctor to keep an eye on Sherlock.  _Oh... I don’t like this... We’ve been drugged, I’m nearly 100% certain! Got to talk to Anthea and Simpson._ As he gets down the stairs he realizes that he was still in pyjamas _. God! Can’t talk to them like this...  Knew that wasn’t a good idea to have them in the house!_ He hurries back in his bedroom to change when Gregory stops him.

“Love... it’s a good news. Why are you stressed out? That bastard doesn’t have a hold on us anymore and...”

Closing the door of their bedroom, Mycroft murmurs to his soulmate “Yes it’s good news. But  _someone_  has done that, and _someone_  tampered with our drinks last night. And if it’s not Sherlock... Who the hell is it? If I owe something to  _someone_  for this, I need to know who it is!” Putting yesterday's clothes back on without thinking he mumbles angrily, “right now, I am in  _someone's_  debt, I don't know who it is and I don’t like not knowing!” He was storming around the room, properly dressed this time, and was ready to go down the stairs when his mother's voice stopped him.

“Darling! Have you seen the news? I hope that either of you won’t have to go back to work this morning because of that!” She shakes her head muttering something about how inconvenient it was to be assassinated on Christmas morning, even in death, he was causing trouble for her family.

The policeman, who was right behind Mycroft, tilts his head a bit as his mother-in-law was going down into the kitchen to make coffee. “You don’t think that...”

“No.” Mycroft chuckles. “Okay she’s fearless, but she’s in her seventies for God sakes! That’s ridiculous!” Pushing away the idea of his mother in a black suit running among the fields around Appledore, he kisses Gregory lightly. “I’m going to talk to Anthea, maybe she learned something, please go into the kitchen to keep an eye on my parents.”

 

In front of the basement bedroom door, Mycroft was trying to keep his composure in front of the strange situation.  _Am I really knocking at my PA and driver's bedroom door?_ Standing tall, he knocks softly and waits a few seconds before Simpson opens the door.

“Sir, good morning. Can I be of assistance?” The man was still in his night clothes, looking a bit uneasy with his current state, as he passes a hand in his hair to straighten the locks.

The PA who was getting out of the little bathroom was fortunately already dressed. “Is everything all right, Sir?”

The government man was trying to maintain his composure and failing. “Anthea, don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here...”

Nonchalantly, the woman invites her boss to sit on one of the chairs in the bedroom reading nook.“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Holmes, but maybe it’s better to close the door.”

“Do you have something to do with what happened?” Mycroft asks, sternly, looking at the pair.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Sir.” Anthea and her boyfriend took their seats, on a small settee. “Have I done something wrong?”

Not wanting to say something that couldn’t be unsaid, Mycroft clears his throat. “This is what I need to know...  _Have you?_ ”

“I don’t think so. I think I, that  _WE_ , are good employees whatever the situation may be.” She placed her hand in Christopher’s, looking at him serenely.

Holmes was starting to lose his composure, the idea that he was further indebted to the two people he relied on the most seemed incomprehensible.  _How could I repay that debt, it’s impossible!_  “That  _situation_ wasn’t for _you_ to correct, and you know it.”

“I don’t understand. Haven’t we always done what needs to be done?” Anthea's tone was soft, gentle but with an edge of authority in it.

Still shaken by whatever drug they used, Mycroft was perturbed by the conversation “Be done -?”

Smiling, Simpson replies with assurance “To achieve our goals Sir, which is to do our job.”

“Your JOB is to follow my orders!”

“Yes.” Anthea confirms before adding carefully, “and to protect you... and your family.”

Shaking his head before placing it in his hands, Mycroft murmurs, “Anthea... Dear... I won’t be able to protect you if...”

“Everything is already taken care of. Don’t worry.” The bodyguard interrupts. “Nobody is going to find out and absolutely nothing is going to happen to Anthea. I swear.”

Chuckling at what he thinks is a rookie mistake, Mycroft argues, “someone is going to talk. Someone  _always_ talks...”

“Only two people know. Nobody knows... except the people in that room.”

“But how... And anyway, Sherlock's going to know as soon as he wakes up...”

“Yes, sorry about the drug by the way. Sherlock is going to know of course, but he’s going to let it go as quickly. It’s exactly what he would have done if he hadn’t sworn to Doctor Watson he'd stay put. You don’t need to know anything else, Sir, everything is covered.  Nobody is going to find out,” Anthea concludes, before rising to her feet. “Sir, trust us.”

Knowing that he was beaten, and secretly relieved that Magnussen's threat was a thing of the past, Mycroft gets to his feet and – for the second time in the last twenty-four hours – shakes hands with his drivers and his PA. “But... what do you need from me, from us? A payment... ”

“Nothing, Sir, honestly. The idea that something like that was hanging over your head was unbearable for us. Anyway, you’ve got enough against us both that I think that we are even now, don’t you think?”

Laughing, thinking about the files he's got on each of his staff members, Mycroft nods.  _They haven't become the best by being angels_. “Yes, I think we are even.” Opening the door, he turns one last time to look at the cozy room and smiles warmly at the couple. “My mother should really open a B &B, don’t you think? Come up quickly, before Sherlock eats all the muffins.”

Half an hour later, the whole gang was in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating the last muffins and pastries while watching the news. Sherlock, still nursing a headache, was in a big chair near the fireplace, stroking Bellamy and sipping his third cup of coffee. John, always the gentleman, was helping his mother with the dishes. Greg and Mycroft, standing together at the kitchen island, were talking softly while watching at the news about the robbery gone wrong at Magnussen’s mansion.

“Isn’t it sad, don’t you think, John?” Ms. Watson asks, not knowing the importance of the affair for the Holmes’ extended family. “So rich, and so alone... Being killed like that while trying to protect his belongings. And that house... so cold, so white. Good thing that horror is now burned to ashes.”

“Mum, don’t say things like that...” John protests, trying to keep on the appearance – he’s a doctor after all! “A man is dead, two, if we count the man who started the fire.”

“Raise the volume a bit Christopher, would you?” Mr. Holmes asks as he sits at the table. “I can’t hear the report..”

> _“The woman found dead, presumably the criminal who killed Mr. Magnussen, is a convict who escaped a government facility where she was kept for suspicion of being a gun for hire of the late criminal known as Moriarty. The woman, Rosamund Moran, escaped from her cell last night after she drugged the agents in charge of her detention. The reasons she decided to attack Mr. Magnussen are still unclear but...”_

Turning his head to look at Anthea and Simpson from the corner of his eye, Sherlock nods slightly as a little smile appears on his lips.  _Good call._

Her hand on his heart, Violet sighs loudly. “Is this... finally over?"

Standing near his mother, Mycroft kisses her on the cheek. “Yes, Mummy. You can relax now!”

The woman demeanour changes instantly as a big grin appears on her lips. “Great! Martha! Mimosas for everyone!” As his oldest son frowns, t _hey should be careful and not celebrate the death of the man_ _!_ , she kisses him back. “It’s Christmas Morning, Myc’, we can have a little bit of bubbly!”

“Maybe... but...” He looks at John’s mother, still perplexed about the whole affair. Greg, placing himself behind his soulmate, murmurs something in his ear with the sweetest smile.

“Oh... Oh... that changes everything!” The tall man was beaming, all doubt pushed away and looking at his boyfriend with the deepest affection “Father, go get the best Champagne!” Finally turning to kiss his lover, he laughs. “And, a thousand times yes, Gregory! I will marry you!”

(Laughter & happiness, forever and ever. The end)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all the wonderful readers of that (not so little finally) fic! 
> 
> Every new subscriber, kudos, comment and bookmark were the little pushes that helped me go thru all the angst! 
> 
> And, as always, many thanks to Notjustmom for the beta-ing xo

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are like little pat on the back from the Internet Gods and the ultimate proof that someone is actually reading the story lol So, let me know what you're thinking of the last chapter I published or if you want me to talk about something :-)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Merci!


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